


Unnatural Pursuits

by M_E_Lover



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Delusions, Enter at Your Own Risk!, Evil Nathan, Gen, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, Near Death Experiences, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pain, Rabies, Sadness, Suffering, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 02:54:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 29,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10800207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M_E_Lover/pseuds/M_E_Lover
Summary: Harold and John are called out of the city for their new number. What they find is a nightmare in the making.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I knew where I was going with this story but now I'm not exactly sure which direction I'm going to take it. If my other stories are any indicator there may be a major character death! Please bear with me while I figure it out.
> 
> **Special thanks to oddgit for the beta!! You're the best!

They were in the middle of nowhere. It was well past midnight and the information they’d received from The Machine had brought them to a Veterinary Research Facility which was seemingly abandoned. 

“Finch, are you sure our number resides here?” John asked skeptically. He surveyed the outskirts of the area as best as he could from their limited vantage point and didn’t like what he saw.

The extensive compound was almost completely dark. If it weren’t for the handful of scattered solar perimeter lights here and there... it would have looked to anyone like it was deserted.

They parked the car facing the front gate. A twelve-foot high chain link fence with three feet of razor wire around the top of it surrounded the entire grounds. The gate was padlocked from the outside.

“I mean, come on, this place is a wreck,” John remarked. “If this doctor lives here someone else seems to have gone to a lot of trouble to keep him inside.”

Harold nodded, “It does seem strange that the gate doesn’t look accessible from the inside. It’s as if whoever last left the place wanted to make sure no one else got back in or out easily.”

“Those chains and the locks are made of high carbon steel. We’ll need the blowtorch to gain entry. I guess it’s a good thing I thought of that ahead of time,” Finch grinned smugly.

“Yeah yeah, back pats all around, let’s go,” Reese replied sarcastically. 

They opened the trunk of the town car and pulled out two heavy duty flashlights and a portable acetylene torch.

John made quick work of cutting through the heavy chains with the headlights from the car to illuminate his task.

“Alright Finch, when we go in I want you close to me in case there’s something going on that we don’t know about.” He looked at his partner. “You’re sure he’s in there, huh?”

“Well I can’t be a hundred percent sure John,” Harold began testily, “but The Machine indicated that the doctor is reclusive and rarely venture’s out beyond the fence. Since there are only a handful of very small windows in the whole facility... we wouldn’t necessarily see any lights inside from out here anyway. 

“Also, I shouldn’t think there’d be any trouble if someone has locked the gate from the outside. I think it’s a pretty good assumption that he’ll be alone. It is a mystery though…” John looked at him curiously. “You know?” Harold mused aloud, “Why would someone bother to lock the gate if someone else is inside?”

“You see there, that’s a good question and that’s why I want you close at hand Harold. Since I can’t convince you to carry a weapon... you’ll be an easy mark if this guy is a lunatic,” John replied irritably.

“John, I told you, I have identified the threat to this man and I know for a fact that he’s the victim here. And as far as the lunatic thing goes, I’m confident that I would be able to either defend myself verbally or run like hell if you’re not there to protect me.” Harold tried to make light of the situation but John was not amused if the look on his face was anything to go by.

“Just stay close to me will you?” John retorted, “I wouldn’t want to see you try to run like hell.” 

“Fine, I’ll be on your heels, alright?” Harold was becoming a little bit frustrated with John coddling him all the time but he would go along with it for now if it made John feel better. 

He knew John always had the best intentions and couldn’t fault him for going with his instincts to protect him. His partner was always on the defensive and that’s what kept them both alive all this time.

“So we’ll just go up to the door and do what, ring the bell?” John asked cynically. “This guy isn’t expecting us and we’ve just broken onto his property. Theoretically, he could shoot and kill us and it would be perfectly legal, you do understand that, right?” John asked uneasily.

“John, there’s nothing I’ve found that indicates that he is a violent man... if anything he seems to be just the opposite. He is a brilliant scientist with a spiteful and dangerous colleague threatening his life. We need to warn him, especially since he has no idea of the threat. So yes, we go up to the door and ring the bell, just as you’ve indicated.”

Doctor Mark Jacobs was oblivious to the fact that a rival in his field of Veterinary Pathology was completely mad with envy. The spiteful man felt that Mister Jacobs was given credit for work that he should have received and wanted him dead for it. 

“Finch, it’s after midnight, not exactly a normal time for a visit,” John stated tensely.

“Yes I’m aware John, but the threat from this man’s psychotic colleague probably doesn’t care what time of day it is. We’ll just have to persuade him that it would be in his best interest to come back to the city with us until we can neutralize the danger posed to him.” Finch was trying not to get more aggravated with his partner but his patience was wearing thin.

“We’ve been through this already, let’s proceed before we spook the man with all the chatter. If he’s aware that we’re out here we should put his mind at ease.”

John shook his head, “What kind of a guy doesn’t have a cell phone like a normal person,” he stated, clearly annoyed.

“Probably one that’s not concerned with handheld verbal communication and has much more to do with his life… now come on, for Pete’s sake.”

“Okay but with his landline being down and someone knocking him up in the middle of the night, don’t be surprised if we don’t get an answer... or if he shoots us.” John grinned as they approached the entrance.

He heard Finch huff in irritation. 

John loved verbally sparring with his genius of a partner, it made life so much more enjoyable in comparison to when he was running all over hell and back with miss cynicism, Kara Stanton.

“Alright now, let me do the talking,” Harold instructed as they stood outside the front door.

“Don’t I always?” John responded and Harold shot him a glare. “Sorry Finch, I’ll start to relax when we’re able to tell what kind of man we’re dealing with here.”

Harold pushed the entry button on an intercom panel and they waited. 

No answer. They looked at each other after a few moments and Harold tried again. Still, no answer although they could distinctly hear the buzzer inside alerting the interior of visitors.

“Hmmm… what do you think?” Harold asked John.

Just as John was going to suggest picking the lock, they both heard what sounded like a snuffling noise just inside the door.

John looked at Harold and motioned for him to stand back away from the door. He put his ear close and continued to hear the unidentifiable noise for another few seconds until the sound faded away.

“I’m going to get this door opened, whatever was making that noise is gone now, we need to take a look but I want you to stay out here until I clear the way,” John noted the look of disapproval from his partner. 

“Please Finch, I just want to make sure it’s alright to go in.”

“That sounded to me like maybe a dog or something sniffing at the door so I have to make sure we don’t get attacked.”

Finch nodded, “Very well, just be careful John. I don’t need you to get rabies from a dog bite,” Harold warned.

“I don’t intend to get bitten Harold, besides I’ve had a rabies vaccination anyway, what about you boss?” He grinned.

“Well, no I haven’t but rabies is rare enough and this is a Veterinary Pathology laboratory; I highly doubt we would have to deal with that issue of all things.” Harold retorted sarcastically.

“Famous last words Finch.” John replied.


	2. Chapter 2

John pulled out his lock-picking implements and discovered that there was no need, the door was already open.

He looked behind him and indicated with a nod of his head and a motion of his hand that he was going in and that Harold should stay behind.

Finch pursed his lips in indignation and gave him a curt nod acknowledging his understanding of John’s unspoken order.

John cracked the door open a little and leaned forward to scan the front office. The room was very dim but for a small solar nightlight casting eerie shadows against the walls from the room’s contents. 

The shapes displayed were strange and made John’s imagination run wild as the shadows seemed to morph and take strange forms and silhouettes that he couldn’t readily identify.

He closed the door and stood upright, blinking and rubbing his eyes.

“What is it?” Harold asked in alarm. Clearly, John had seen something that had confounded him.

“It’s nothing, I just had something in my eye I guess. The room is clear but I want to go further inside before you go in, I can’t see behind the desk and chairs that are in there.”

 

Harold looked at his partner, scrutinizing his nervous behavior. “That’s ridiculous John, do you actually think someone is hiding in there, waiting to get a jump on us or something? The man most likely doesn’t even know we’re here.”

“Harold…” John looked at him in earnest, “just let me do this.” He didn’t know what he thought he may have seen in there but he needed to make sure there wouldn’t be a threat to either of them.

Harold sighed in exasperation, “Then get on with it John, we don’t want to be here all night.”

Harold stood just outside the door as John cautiously let himself inside. 

He looked around and turned on his flashlight and directed the beam all around the room, behind the desk and chairs and found nothing unusual.  
He found the light switch on the wall and discovered that it was in the on position but there was no light. 

Harold pushed the door open when he saw John relax a bit and gave him the all clear signal and he went inside.

“Well, I guess I was correct then?” Harold said sarcastically. “No one hiding under the desk waiting to leap out and kill us?”

John shook his head, clearly annoyed, “Finch, just let me do my job.” 

“Yes, you’re right John. I don’t know why I’m so impatient and edgy tonight, I apologize.” Harold felt bad about jumping down John’s throat so much. He didn’t know what it was but something had him feeling uneasy about the place as well.

“I wonder why there’s no light in here,” John remarked.

“Maybe the ballasts went out in the overhead fluorescent's.” Harold looked above them at the dark ceiling lights.

 

“Well, let’s proceed then.” Harold moved to start down a hallway but John put a hand out to stop him.

“You know the rules, I go first,” John stated resolutely.

Harold rolled his eyes and let John take the lead.

They found the wall switch for the hall and determined that there was obviously no power to the building. John put a hand on Finch’s forearm, halting their progress.

“I don’t like this Harold, we should leave and come back in the morning when there’s sufficient light in here.”

“Our number may not have until morning, John. We have to find him, especially now when it seems somebody’s cut the power. We may already be too late I realize but we must find out.” Finch whispered. He smiled at John a little, obviously nervous but determined to help their victim if it was within their power. 

John took a deep breath, “I suppose there’s no convincing you to go back to the car and wait for me to find him?” John knew it was hopeless, he knew Harold would not leave his side at this point and was very concerned for his safety. Finch shook his head determinedly. 

“I can’t let you have all the fun,” he stated and grinned nervously.

John didn’t grin back, he hated putting Harold into unknown variables and never really had much success in convincing his stalwart; and at times irritating, partner that he knew what was best for him.

 

They proceeded down a long dark corridor with the bright heavy-duty flashlights in their hands illuminating the way. John had his handgun at the ready as per his usual practice in his other hand.

There were doors every twenty feet or so with small, clear glass windows cut eye level in each. They moved swiftly and as quietly as they could, casting light into each barren room as they looked inside. Then they heard a man’s voice.

“Hey… help! Is anyone there?” The frightened voice called out.

They looked at each other and then hurried toward the sound. As they got closer to the door they saw the man’s apprehensive face peering at them through the window. He opened the door in a rush as soon as they got to him.

John’s instincts told him that he wouldn’t need his gun and he let the man pull them into the room and hurriedly shut the door behind them.

“Oh thank goodness! I thought I was dead!” The anxious man blurted.

“Doctor Jacobs?” Finch asked expectantly as John looked around the room taking in their surroundings.

“Yes, that’s right, who are you and how did you know that I needed help? Who set that animal free in here?” Came the fearful answer.

The man looked disheveled and Finch tried to placate him. He began calmly,

“Sir my name is Harold and this is my partner, John. We got word that you were in trouble and came to help but I don’t know what you mean about a loose animal.”

“You haven’t seen that rabid dog running around here? Where has he gone? He’s highly dangerous, we have to catch him before he gets away from the compound.” 

The doctor was wired with fear and adrenaline. “That animal has a genetically modified strain of the Rabies virus coursing through his body. I had him quarantined and was attempting to find a cure when the lights went out. I came in here to find a flashlight and then heard something out in the hall. I looked out and saw him running up and down the corridor, snarling and snapping at nothing but the air around him.”

“Finch…?” John prompted. “I need you two to stay in here while I go try to corner the dog in a room.” John made for the door. “But doctor… I will shoot him if I have to,” he added.

“I understand,” The doctor replied. “But if at all possible I need him alive. I’ve been working on a cure for this particular aberration for months. It was created to be used as a bio-weapon and they didn’t bother with learning how to treat or cure it."

Harold shook his head and held onto his partner's arm firmly. “No John, you’re not going. It’s too dark, I won’t have you putting your life on the line for a rabid dog.”

“Harold if I don’t neutralize the threat... none of us are going anywhere, understand?” Finch continued to shake his head for a moment in denial but then relented and hesitantly agreed that John was right. 

“Then, if you must… please be extra diligent John.” He looked at the floor solemnly, “I can’t do this without you.” He raised his head and met John’s eyes and added with finality, "I won't do it without you.

“I’m not going anywhere Finch, you’re stuck with me... Remember?” John smiled back. “I’ll be back as soon as possible and then we’ll all get out of this place and deal with the rest later.”

Harold looked out into the hallway then held the door while John slipped out, flashlight and gun at the ready. 

He turned toward the doctor and walked over to the desk. “Sir, this is going to be difficult to explain but our business is to help people that are in dire need.” The doctor looked confused.

“Please have a seat and I’ll try to explain a little better.” He placed the light on the desk, the beam was directed against a stark white wall, providing a satisfactory amount of illumination in the room.

“Yes please do. How did you know about my situation?” 

“All you really need to know is that your rival, a Doctor Rylance, wants you dead. The man is unhinged and is wildly jealous of your achievements,” Harold began.

“Why would Doctor Rylance want to kill me? He’s renowned in his own right.” Jacobs inquired surprised at the assertion.

“Well evidently his own successes do not stand up to yours in his mind and he can’t accept it.”

The doctor shook his head, “I just don’t get it.”

“Nor do I sir but my source is never wrong.”

Just then the door swung open and the mysterious dog ran into the room and cornered Harold and the doctor foaming at the mouth and growling intently. 

The very large German shepherd was intimidating, to say the least, and both men tried to remain as calm as possible.

“How did he get in here?” The doctor whispered alarmingly.

“I have no idea but don’t move a muscle, perhaps if we don’t seem threatening he’ll leave,” Harold whispered back as he tried to quiet his labored breathing. “Don’t look him in the eye.”

Suddenly, without warning, the dog leaped at the men and Harold threw himself toward the crazed and vicious animal, pushing the doctor out of the way.

It latched onto Harold’s arm and tore through all the layers of his clothing. 

Harold screamed in agony as dull teeth sank into his skin and muscle and it thrashed its head back and forth in a frenzy pulling Harold to the floor.

The doctor ran from the room yelling for John.

The animal released Harold’s arm and went for his throat. 

He caught the dog’s head in both hands and tried with all of his strength to hold him off.

His injured arm weakened under the strain and the dog bit and sunk its teeth into the flesh of his throat. 

Before the frenzied dog could thrash its head about and tear out Harold’s jugular vein, John was there and knocked it out using all of his strength with the butt of his gun.

The animal collapsed to the side and John fell to his knees beside his partner.

“Finch!” He yelled as Harold’s hands flew to his own throat and he gasped for breath.

Harold was in agony as blood ran from his wounds, the injuries throbbed excruciatingly with each beat of his overtaxed heart. He held his neck as best as he could with his uninjured hand, stinting the blood flow as much as he was able while John hurriedly tore at his own clothing, rushing to make strips of bandaging. 

John rolled his jacket up and put it under Harold’s hand at his neck.

“I’ll get the first-aid kit, I’ll be back as soon as possible!” The doctor had hurried out of the room as John tried frantically to help Harold through the ordeal and pain. 

“Finch… damn it!” He choked out as he took Harold’s free hand in his. “I tried to tell you!”

Harold couldn’t respond, he tightened his hold on John’s hand until shock set in and his grip loosened as he lost consciousness.


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh, my God,” John said aloud as he held on to Harold’s limp hand for a moment longer then removed the jacket that covered the mangled, ripped flesh at his neck. The horrific sight of Harold’s raw and bleeding wounds made him nauseous.  
They already looked as if they were becoming infected and John’s heart sank to his stomach. 

He pulled himself together and looked around the room. His eyes fell on the unconscious dog. He wanted nothing more than to kill the vicious animal but he knew that he couldn’t. If something developed with Finch, and it was obvious it was already happening, the dog might be his only chance. 

The irony was not lost on John as he stared at the wretched beast as it lay there twitching and still foaming at the mouth. The fact that this infected animal could possibly be his partner’s savior but more than likely the agent of his demise was unjust and a complete travesty to his compassionate and altruistic friend.

“Where are you, Jacobs!?” He yelled at the top of his lungs, furious and frustrated at his own impotence in the matter.

“I’m coming, John!” Jacobs came hurrying in from the hall.

He got back inside the room with clean towels and a first-aid kit. “Here,” he handed John three hand towels, “We should move him to an examination area, the rooms are sterile and may help with any infection that will develop.” There was no doubt in the doctor’s mind that an infection would have already taken root.

John shook his head, “No… we have to get the bleeding under control first. I’ll take care of that while you get that animal secured. You’re going to continue your work Doctor.” John took a shuddering breath.

“Please tell me that you were close to a breakthrough with your research.” John looked at Jacobs pleadingly.

The doctor smiled sadly, “I am close John… I’m just not sure if it will be in time.”

John squeezed his eyes shut and choked out a quiet sob.

“I’m very sorry that I can’t promise you anything.” Jacobs put a hand on his shoulder, “but you shouldn’t give up.”

John nodded and went to work on Finch while Jacobs drug the still unconscious dog out of the room.

He cut Finch’s ripped and bloody jacket away and gently pulled his tie loose. He opened his waistcoat and unbuttoned his dress shirt fully and pulled it from his trousers then started on his undershirt. There would be no saving the formally white, now ghastly red, V-neck or anything else as far as he was concerned.  
John thought about his partner’s finely crafted wardrobe and found himself smiling in spite of himself. If nothing else could be said about Finch the fact that he was a flashy dresser was beyond any doubt.

 

Harold was burning up under his layers. John knew it must be bad if his body was already showing signs of severe distress. He paused and closed his eyes taking a steadying breath, attempting to steel himself for what was to come.

Finch stirred and opened his eyes dazedly and looked at the ceiling and around the dim room in confusion.

John stopped and looked at him anxiously, “Finch...?”

Harold seemed unaware of his surroundings and furrowed his eyebrows in concentration as his body shivered.

He found John’s eyes. “It’s cold… I’m cold…” he slurred hoarsely as his teeth chattered.  
“Ahh…!” He hissed and tried reflexively to reach for his neck as a sharp lance of pain traveled to his throat.

John’s heart ached. “I’m sorry Finch…” He took hold of Harold’s hand to prevent him from hurting himself further. 

He looked around the room frantically for something to cover him with but the only thing to be found were remnants and blood-soaked clothing.

“Hurts… John.” Harold clenched his teeth together as a wave of fresh pain flowed through him. He quickly passed out again but his racked frame continued to tremble and quake as sweat beaded over his exposed skin, dripping down the sides of his face.

John was at a loss. He wanted to cry. There was nothing he could do and it killed him. It was extremely hard for him to concentrate with Finch being so hurt but he shook himself mentally. 

He called upon all of his prior experience to be able to continue to clean and dress Harold’s wounds as best as he could without losing it.

As soon as Finch was stabilized he would find the source of the power outage and get the electricity back into the building.

John took his blood soaked jacket and draped it across Harold’s trembling upper body then rose to his feet and looked down on his poor partner.

“Why in the hell can’t you listen to me, you stubborn shit?” He asked the unconscious man fretfully.

The doctor came back and stood in the doorway.

“How is he?” He asked already knowing the truth. He couldn’t look at Finch laying there. He felt terrible for everything. 

If Harold hadn’t put himself between him and the dog... it would be him lying there instead.

“Where’s the fuse box?” John asked in lieu of an answer, never taking his eyes off of his partner.

“It’s out around the north side of the building; there’s a breaker box that supplies the whole compound with electricity. It’s not locked so you shouldn’t have any trouble getting in.”

“Did you secure the dog?” he asked plainly.

“Yes, he’s just down the hall. He’s in a cage. Luckily I got him in before he came to. I have some tranquilizers to keep him calm that I will administer shortly after he’s woken up.” The doctor walked over and stood next to John.

“I’m going to do everything in my power to help your friend, John.”

John closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. Even though he wasn’t sure there was anything or anyone to pray to, he had to try anyway just in case. 

“You stay here until I get back, I’ll be as quick as I can… just don’t leave him.” John hurried out of the door leaving the doctor to watch over the most important person in his life.

Doctor Jacobs sat next to Harold, watching the terrible effects of his wounds develop at breakneck speed.

Harold began to shiver violently and the doctor placed his hand on his forehead. 

His face was cool and clammy to the touch but he was feverish. The doctor wiped the dampness from his face with the least of the soiled hand towels and checked over the bandages that John had applied to his arm and neck. 

Harold woke up again and looked up at the ceiling and around the room with his eyes. He couldn’t seem to move his head and inhaled deeply, trying to clear the fog from his senses. 

He couldn’t figure out was happening around him. His vision swam as he tried to make out the shapes in the dim room.

The one thing there was no doubt of was the pain he felt throughout his body. He winced at the severity of a particular location at his throat and it was becoming a bit difficult to breathe. 

He wanted to know what was happening to him but he couldn’t manage to speak to the figure next to him.

“Harold?” Jacobs prompted him quietly. “Harold, can you hear me?” He tried again, a little louder when he didn’t get an immediate reply.

Finch acknowledged him with a slight nod of his head. It was all he could manage but he didn’t recognize the voice that spoke to him and he began to feel apprehensive.

He tried desperately to speak but all he could manage was the single word, “Where…?”

Just as Jacobs was going to acknowledge his question the lights came on in the building. The intensity and suddenness of them elicited a gasp and a grimace from Harold as he squeezed his eyes shut, circumventing the harshness of the fluorescent tubing until his eyes could adjust.

John had found the electric control panel and reset the main breakers. 'At least they would have the resources to better take care of Finch now,' he thought to himself and ran back inside.

“It’s alright Harold, your friend should be back any minute now.” Jacobs tried to calm him. 

Finch began to get agitated by not knowing who Jacobs was and not understanding what was happening to him. 

He started to try and sit up but couldn’t manage it. His body ached and his joints were stiff. He was weak and felt as if his limbs were made of stone. 

John rushed back in the room and saw the agitation and stress in his partner’s eyes and kneeled down next to him.

“I don’t think he remembers me,” Jacobs offered, “he’s confused John and he’s scared.”

It was obvious to John what state Harold was in, he didn’t need to be told, he could see it plainly in his anxious expression. Harold didn’t seem to recognize him either and that terrified him.

“Finch… it’s me, John, you’re alright.” He tried as steadily as he could in an attempt of reassuring him.

Harold blinked a few times and John could see the wheels turning behind his eyes until realization and comprehension dawned on him.

“John,” Harold breathed in relief. 

“Thank goodness, yes Finch, you’ve been attacked by a rabid dog, do you remember?” John smiled a little at him, he felt as if he’d been given a momentary reprieve. 

“Yes… I remember. What of Jacobs?” He asked hoarsely. Harold’s throat felt like it was on fire. He continuously felt the need to swallow, to coat his throat from the dry irritation he felt there.

“I’m here Harold.” Jacobs stepped into his line of sight. “Thanks to you,” he stated gratefully.

“I’m glad.” Harold swallowed painfully again. “Water?” He requested. 

John looked at the doctor, “Yes, of course, I’ll be right back.”

“Finch, we have to move you, do you think you can stand?”

Harold closed his eyes, taking a mental inventory of his body’s capabilities.

“I’m not sure.” He opened his eyes and looked at John seriously, “I can’t feel anything but pain.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Finch…?” Harold had closed his eyes again while they waited for Jacobs to return. The light was irritating him. John wanted to keep him alert, he was worried that he was going to lose him if he lost consciousness again.

“John… please turn off the lights,” he rasped. 

It was getting harder to breathe now, he was beginning to feel his airway constricting. He was finding it difficult to remember from one moment to the next what was going on around him as well. 

He felt anxiety building in his chest and remembered what it felt like to have a full on panic attack. That knowledge did very little to help the situation he found himself in now, especially with pain being the primary focus.

John turned off the overhead lights and let the ambient light from the flashlight illuminate the room again.

“Finch…?” John tried again to engage his partner, to keep him awake.

Harold opened his tired eyes and looked over towards John. He needed an anchor to hold on to, to help keep his thoughts grounded. He needed a distraction from his own considerations of death and the pain in his body was indescribable and he didn’t understand it.

Harold knew the pain of burns and broken bones. He knew the pain of cuts and lacerations of deep tissue damage and the crushing of bone under flesh. He knew the pain of almost everything the human body could be put through but he couldn’t identify this new pain… and it scared him.

 

John identified the look of fright in Harold’s eyes and it gutted him that he couldn’t help.

 

“I’m sorry Harold… I should have made you wait for me in the car.”

 

“You can’t… make me… do anything John,” he whispered. He found it a bit easier to speak if he kept his voice low. He didn’t want John blaming himself for what happened. 

He wouldn’t have wanted what happened to him happen to John instead, that was not acceptable by any stretch of the imagination.

 

The doctor came back in the room with a bottled water and handed it to John. He looked up at the dark lights.

“It was hard on his eyes,” John answered his unspoken question.

“Here Finch…” John moved to help Harold sit up to take some water. The doctor went around the other side and helped lift his shoulders up as well.

Finch gasped at the movement and had to concentrate not to choke on the cool liquid as it went down his irritated throat. Most of it spilled down the front of him as he tried to swallow.

He was able to get only a few small sips down before he had a coughing fit when some of it went down the wrong passageway as he tried to breathe.

John and Jacobs winced at the sight of Harold slumped over, desperately trying to get his breath back through the pain and distress he was experiencing.

He was a mess. Blood and sweat covered him and it was almost too much for John to bear.

The wounds at his throat started to bleed through the bandages.

“Please, we have to get him in the other room.” Jacobs explained to John. “It will be much easier on everyone, the sooner the better.”

“Harold… we’re going to help you stand... if you don’t think you can walk, I will carry you.” John knew they needed to get him moved right away before he went further downhill. 

“You can’t… carry me John,” Harold teased. He wanted to help John through his feelings of guilt and knew that humor was the best way to accomplish the task. 

He felt like shit and hurt everywhere and didn’t know how long he would be able to... but while he could... he was going to do his damnedest to help his partner stop beating himself up.

“I’m stronger than I look,” John teased back. “Now on three, one…two…three.” With John on one side and Jacobs on the other, they managed to get Harold to his feet.

He was able to hold his own weight mostly but the two men held on to him, bracing his arms over their shoulders, as he slowly walked to the doorway.

He held his breath and squeezed his eyes shut tightly against the pain that any and all movement caused him as they made their way down the hallway.

He panted for air midway down and lost the ability to move his legs. They hurried along until they got him to the examination room and onto the padded table.

They laid him out on the table and John put his hand on Harold’s leg, just to indicate that he was there with him. The lights were harsh and Harold put his arm up reflexively over his eyes and crushed his glasses into the bridge of his nose causing a cut to open up and bleed freely.

John saw the trickle of red drip down the side of his face and pulled his arm down gently. “Finch… let me take those.” 

John reached for Harold’s glasses and was stopped by his thrashing arm.

“Stop!” Harold yelled. “Don’t take them!” Then suddenly he clutched at his throat and couldn’t breathe.

“Jesus Christ! Doctor do something!” John urged.

“Move, John!” Jacobs ran to a cabinet that hung on the far wall and grabbed a shot of epinephrine and ran back as Harold’s eyes began to water from lack of oxygen. He hurriedly injected it into his arm.

John was in shock. He stood back in a daze as the effects of the drug did their job and Harold was finally able to breathe again.

Jacobs blew a sigh of relief as Harold slowly calmed his breathing.

Harold peered around the room, squinting his eyes in effort to figure out where he was. He was in severe pain and couldn’t remember what was happening. Had he zoned out again? He saw Jacobs across the room and John was standing against the wall staring at him.

He looked at John questioningly and John took that for the invitation it was meant to be.

He walked over to him and put his hand on his arm. John again noticed how hot Harold was but now the difference was that he was no longer sweating. John knew that was a very bad sign. He smiled as well as he could and squeezed Harold’s arm in reassurance. Reassurance that he couldn’t give himself.

“You’re going to be alright Finch.” He swallowed down the lump in his throat. He wasn’t sure whether Harold would be okay or not but he had to be optimistic for his sake.

"The doctor is getting some medicine for you… and some more bandages,” John smiled sadly. “You’ve hurt your nose, silly.” 

Harold furrowed his brows, he didn’t know what John was talking about. “You wouldn’t let me take your glasses,” He reminded him. John was getting alarmed further at the unusual symptoms he was seeing.

John looked so sad it made Harold’s heart constrict. Why was John so sad? 

“Oh,” He answered and smiled at his partner.

John smiled back and turned to look at the doctor still gathering supplies and turned back to his partner. “Do you know where you are?” He asked nervously.

Harold thought for a moment and answered, “where?”

John’s heart sank.

The doctor finally came back with bandages and antiseptic for Harold’s wounds.

Harold looked at him confused as he started to cut the existing bloody dressings from his arm. 

“How are you feeling now?” Jacobs asked as he cut through the material. Jacobs was deeply concerned too that Harold was becoming mixed up so much.

Harold took another long moment in thought. “Pain,” he answered.

John swallowed in dread at the lack of verbal communication Harold was using.

“Finch… do you know who I am?” He smiled a little, trying to encourage him.

Harold was quiet and searched John’s face anxiously. He felt panic trying to assail him again, he couldn’t place him. His breathing sped up and he felt a sudden wave of nausea creeping up on him.

John saw the fear returning to his eyes and the doctor stopped what he was doing to let John try and calm him down.

“Finch… It’s John, you remember… John, your partner.” Harold finally recognized him and took a steadying breath. 

“Yes… John, what’s happening to me?” He breathed shakily, he knew he wasn’t right somehow.

“We’re going to figure it out Finch, please try not to worry.” John tried his best, he took a breath and continued. “The doctor is going to figure out what we have to do to get you back. Hang in there.”

John smiled down at his poor friend and his heart physically ached for him. The pain he was in was obvious in every crease of his face. He nodded at the doctor to continue and he picked up an antiseptic wipe from the tray of medical implements and started to wipe the blood from the bridge of Harold’s nose and down his face.

“Finch… Can I take your glasses off? Harold looked at him nervously, “just for a minute. I want to get the blood off of your face; I’ll give them right back. I promise.” He smiled in encouragement.

Harold relaxed slightly and nodded his consent then closed his eyes.

“Slight burn here,” John warned him before he put the antiseptic on the cut. Harold didn’t move a muscle. 

He didn’t feel anything but intense pain throughout the rest of his body. The stringent swab to his nose didn’t even move the needle fractionally on the scale of his pain.

Jacobs noticed as soon as he picked Harold’s arm up to remove his bandage that He had stopped sweating. He looked at John and John saw the concern in the doctor’s eyes but didn’t want to question him in front of Finch. 

The heat from Harold’s body could be felt without even touching him. Jacobs swallowed and continued to redress his wound.

“Alright Finch, here’s your glasses.” John had put a small band-aid on the cut to his nose and replaced his spectacles gently.

Harold opened his eyes and squinted again against the brightness of the room.

“John…?” He whispered weakly.

“Yeah Finch?” John leaned in and put his hand on his arm, wanting to make physical contact again and worried continually about how hot his skin was. Jacobs went to work, slowly pulling the ghastly bandage away from his neck. 

“Take care of the number.” Harold needed John to remember that their primary goal was taking care of the irrelevants. He needed John to remember that it was both of their jobs in life. To save the people that no one else would was everything and they would always come first. He needed John to remember that they made it their purpose in life and that they had an oath to uphold.

 

The reason Harold needed to remind John was because he knew that he was dying.

John looked at him confusedly. “Of course Finch.” He replied solemnly. “We’ll take care of him… both of us will.”

Harold smiled at him and nodded. “Let me rest a bit John.”

John watched despondently, feeling his heart break as Harold closed his eyes and passed out.

Jacobs looked at John sadly.

“You’ve got to save him… please.” John turned and went out into the hall and leaned against the wall and broke down.


	5. Chapter 5

Jacobs came out of the exam room to find John standing with his back against the wall, staring off into space.

“John… I’m not going to pull any punches here,” Jacobs began, “he may not make it."

John closed his eyes and let out a long deep breath.

“His wounds are infected and he needs surgery to close them properly. I’m sorry that I can’t do it… that I’m not that kind of doctor” 

John shook his head in exacerbation and stood up away from the wall.

“What do you know about this strain doctor, what other kind of hell is he going to have to go through?”

Jacobs took a breath, “As I’ve said, the people that developed it are ruthless and care about nothing but bringing their adversaries to their knees in one of the most brutal methods imaginable. They wanted their enemies and their loved ones to suffer horribly.”

“We’ve already seen confusion and anxiety from him and the fever he has is very concerning at the moment but things are going to get much worse if they have any similarity to the symptoms I’ve seen in the dog I’m afraid.” Jacobs hung his head and looked at the floor.

“Unfortunately there’s not a lot I can do, I can’t even offer him pain killers… I’m very sorry.”

“He has pain killers with him, locked in the car, but somehow I don’t see them doing him any good with what he’s going through right now. I’m not sure when he took the last dose. He only uses them in an absolute emergency, I’ll go get them just in case he asks.”

“I’ll go in and sit with him until you get back.” Jacobs went back inside the room while John ran outside to the car and got Harold’s Pain meds from the glove box. He looked at the bottle… it was full. 

John shook his head looking at the date the prescription had been filled. “Jesus Finch, can’t you give yourself a break once in a while?” It had been filled three weeks prior to today’s date and didn’t look like any had been taken.

He hurried back inside and found Jacobs waiting for him just outside the Harold’s room.

“Come with me, I want you to see what we’re up against.”

John looked at him uncertainly, he didn’t want to leave Harold alone.

“He should be alright for a couple of minutes, we’ll hurry.” The doctor assured him.

John followed him hesitantly to another room two doors down from the room that Harold was in.

As soon as they got to the doorway the dog that was locked in a metal cage in a corner of a large room stood and began growling at them aggressively as they approached.

John walked over to the snarling animal and had to hold himself in check so as not to put a bullet in its head on the spot. He circled the cage, watching the dog as it followed and snapped at him behind the thick metal wire. 

“He’s the last one alive.” Jacobs walked over to the cage. “There were five to begin with.”

John looked at him in dismay... nervously waiting for more information. 

"They were brought in and within forty-five minutes of their arrival, I lost the first one."

Suddenly the dog began to thrash its body against the side of the cage wildly. 

They both stared in horror as the poor animal fell over and started to convulse violently while an abundance of bloody foam oozed from its mouth and nose. It howled in pain until the noises it was producing turned to gurgling whines as it slowly drown in its own fluids.

“My God…!” Jacobs went over and unlatched the cage door and knelt down to look at the dead animal closely.

“John, please hand me a pair of gloves." Jacobs pointed to a box of latex gloves and John handed a pair over to the doctor and put a few in his own pocket... just in case.

He knelt inside and felt around the dog’s neck and held one of its ears between his fingers; checking its temperature, then he backed out and stood up pulling the gloves off and putting them into a hazardous waste bin.

 

“How long has it been like this?” John asked anxiously.

When the doctor didn’t immediately answer him, John looked at him pointedly.

“How long!?” He asked again, anger clearly evident in his tone.

Jacobs looked at him sadly, “Less than twenty-four hours.

John’s knees instantly felt weak, he felt as if he had physically taken a blow to his gut and had to make his way to the desk in the corner and sit down.

Jacobs got a bottled water out of a small refrigerator and walked over and handed it to him.

“So you see John, although I’m close to a cure... I can’t give you a false promise. I wouldn’t do that to anyone, I’m so very sorry.”

“What do you need to expedite your work?” John asked numbly.

“I need to get a tissue sample right away before the animal's brain has had time to decay.”

“Then do it!” he exclaimed impatiently.

He took a breath, he tried to reel in his emotional turmoil. “I’m sorry, I just…” he couldn’t continue.

“I understand John. And you’re right. Look, you go back in with Harold and if he wakes up again just do what you can but be very careful,” Jacobs looked into his eyes. “I haven’t seen what the effects are in a person, he may at some point be aggressive, I really just don’t know exactly what to expect with human genetic make-up.”

“This modified strain acts almost instantaneously once it’s introduced into the blood stream; it’s very frightening. The speed in which it attacks the nervous system is astounding.”

John sat morosely and shook his head in defeat.

“I’ll work as fast as I can, just pray that I can crack the code in time.” Jacobs clutched his shoulder, “And John… don’t get too close. If he shows signs of agitation don’t go near him. You can’t let him transmit this to you.”

John looked up at Jacobs in disbelief, “Are you telling me that I can’t comfort my best friend?” He was beginning to get heated again. “That man is the closest thing in the world that I have to family… I would die for him and you’re telling me not to go near him?” 

John’s voice took on the deadly rasp that could send a shiver of fear down a grizzly bear’s spine from the intensity of it and Jacobs flinched from him reflexively.

“No… I mean yes, just be careful. He’s probably not physically a threat with his injuries as they are but if he shows the same signs of aggression that we’ve seen in the dogs, he may act without knowing his own limitations. I just don’t know John.”

John clenched his jaw together... seething with anger at the situation.

“Alright, just please hurry with your research, I’m going to go to him. Please do what you can.”

“I will John and I will be available if you need me for anything. I’m going to do my best and I won’t give up until I find the cure. There’s a possibility he has more time than the dogs did and if that’s the case he’ll have a better a much chance of…”

Jacobs couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. He was finding it tough to deal with too on his own emotional level.

He would probably be dead already or at least waiting to die... considering that there wasn’t another delivery of supplies he would need for another twenty-three days. Not to mention the fact that his colleague had it out for him and could kill him at any point. 

He had no idea that he was being targeted.

The fact that these two men had come out to save him; a man they didn’t even know, made him feel indebted to them both. Harold had saved him and had, in essence, probably killed himself in the process. 

It was more than he could fathom and he would do everything in his power to save him.

John got up without another word and went back to sit with Harold while Jacobs went back to his research.

When John got back to the room he found Harold mumbling incoherently. 

“Finch…?” He walked over to him and put his hand on his arm.

“Next week,” Harold slurred behind closed eyelids.

John knew he must be dreaming about something and didn’t want to wake him up as Harold kept talking. John let him.

“The thirty-first… pi,” he continued. “I’ll call her.” Harold was somewhere else in his mind and John was curious so he listened attentively. 

Then Harold started to get emotional about something and he felt as if he were eavesdropping and wanted to go out of the room. He knew he couldn’t leave his partner but had the urge to let him get through it in private.

“She has to see me but I can’t…” Harold began to get choked up and continued his ravings. “He’s gone, I’m gone… not coming again… leave her in peace.” He began to weep quietly then his hand went up to his throat and he tore the bandage off of his neck. John couldn’t stop him... he was too quick. 

John almost choked at the condition of the wound. The tissue was ghastly red where the dog bit and ripped into Harold’s flesh and it was inflamed and seeping a large amount of viscous fluid. 

The tendons under what used to have skin over them were visible just under what remained of the flesh that had not been torn off. Harold would need plastic surgery to repair the damage. If he made it out of alive.

John held Harold’s arms down as he unconsciously tried to sit up... causing John to accidentally get his arm bleeding again under the bandage. 

“Finch! Finch wake up!” John shouted trying to bring him out of his dream state.

Harold stilled almost at once.

“Dad?” Harold gasped.

John tried to keep himself under control but it was getting more difficult for him by the second.

“Finch… it's John,” he choked. 

Harold went still, breathing heavily, he opened his eyes and looked around the room unfocused until he found and locked onto John’s eyes.

“Finch…” John got emotional seeing Harold’s frightened eyes looking at him. “Harold?” He tried again and brought Harold’s hand up to his heart. “It’s me… John.” He swallowed the lump in his throat. 

Harold didn’t respond verbally but tears welled in his eyes and dripped down the sides of his face.

“Finch… please talk to me.”

“I can’t stay…” Harold smiled sadly, “I can’t stay… I’m sorry.”

“Harold… please don’t say that... I can’t do this without you either my friend.” The tears ran from John freely now. He knew what Harold was saying and it was the worst thing he could think of ever hearing.


	6. Chapter 6

“John… I’m sorry but I’m dying.” Harold squeezed John’s hand and smiled at him sadly.

John couldn’t speak, all he could do was look at Harold with tears in his eyes. The pain written in his features was obvious as he fought to continue to speak.

“Please continue our work... don’t let this…” Harold began to tell John that he needed to carry on without him but then he started to feel very strange and couldn’t finish. 

As he struggled to maintain control of his thoughts the space behind John began to darken and startling images of winged creatures he’d never seen or imagined before started to morph and form around him.

John saw Harold’s focus shift as he stood there holding his hand to his chest. He watched the pupils of his eyes dilate and his breathing started to become erratic while his expression transformed into fear. 

“Finch?” 

Harold startled and pulled his hand away from John in terror.

“Get away! John get away from them!” Harold cried in pure horror as he tried to push himself away from the flying monsters.

John tried desperately to hold onto him but Harold managed to shove himself off the table and landed on the floor with a sickening thud.

“Finch!” He ran around the table to find Harold scrambling and pushing himself across the floor with one leg until his back was up against the wall.

“No please, stop! Get away from me… get away!” Harold was clutching at a small filing cabinet trying to find purchase on something to defend himself with.

“Leave him alone! John run!” He screamed. 

“My God… Finch.” John fell to his knees a few feet away from his terrified partner in shock as he watched him completely lose control of his brilliant mind. 

Harold’s wounds had opened up and were bleeding copiously.

The winged monsters were flying around the room, diving at John who just sat there staring at him... oblivious to the danger.

“John!” Harold wanted John to run and save himself but he wouldn’t move. He wouldn’t be able to stand to see John killed by the foul creatures, “Run!” But John still wouldn’t move, had they paralyzed him somehow? “Please John!”

“Ahhh!” Harold screamed as they now dived at him and he tried to duck and swat at them.

Blood was everywhere now and John shook himself out of the shock that had transfixed him from watching Harold’s tormented mind create some unseen hell. 

He suddenly remembered that Jacobs had said that he had tranquilizers for the dog, he had to use it now to knock his partner out. It was the only thing he could think of to help ease the corporeal nightmares he was living.

Jacobs was already standing at the door with a syringe, he had heard the commotion and saw what was happening. Although the tranquilizer was meant for a canine, it was their only hope to get Harold back under control. He felt that the risk was unavoidable.

Harold thrashed around, swatting the air around him. He locked on to John’s eyes and the look of pure horror in them made John sick with grief.

“John!” Why wasn’t he moving? “Run, damn you!” Harold was losing his strength. They were tearing at his skin, he couldn’t fight them all. “Please!”

Someone came in the room with a needle in his hand. “John watch out!” The flying creatures were leaving but now there was a man sneaking up on John.

“John!” The man got closer to him, “behind you!” John looked up at the man but didn’t seem to be worried. 

Then to Harold’s utter bewilderment John stood up and walked towards him with the man. They were coming at him with the needle.

“John… what?” Harold’s eyes went wide in fear as they approached him.

“Harold… it’s alright.” John tried to sooth his partner but it was useless. He couldn’t reason with him, he was too far gone.

“John… what are you doing?” Harold was confused, they must have gotten to John. They must have brainwashed him to go against him.

“I can’t…” Harold couldn’t make it easy for them; he would fight to his last breath. “John it’s me!”

Harold had to make John wake up, make him see what they’ve done to him. 

“We’re going to have to be extremely careful John, remember what I told you,” Jacobs stated as he looked at Harold and moved closer. 

John nodded.

Harold heard what the man said; he was right, they got to John. 

“Please John… don’t listen to him… it’s me, Finch!” He gasped.

John wanted to cry; he hated what he had to do but it was the only thing to be done to stop Harold from doing any more damage to himself. 

He looked at Jacobs and nodded. They approached Harold and waited until he lost steam as he kicked and lashed out at them. He finally wore himself out and panted desperately, looking at them both in alarm.

John cringed at every move Harold made knowing how much agony he must be in now and what it would mean for him later.

“Please John…” Harold was weeping quietly, exhausted from the fighting and mental strain and he seemed to give up as they got closer to him. He was breathing heavily, panting for oxygen.

John’s heart was breaking. Clearly, Finch thought that he meant to do him harm and it crushed his soul.

“Don’t let them…” Harold slumped over and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. His exhausted body heaved as his breathing slowly calmed and he lay there unmoving.

John and Jacobs stood there and looked down at the poor wretch, bleeding everywhere and beginning to twitch as muscle spasms made themselves known.

“Help me get him back on the table.” John had tears running down his face as they pulled Harold up from the floor. There was nothing to be said about what just happened.

“John, we should probably tie him up,” Jacobs suggested as they got him back up on the table.

“There’s no way in hell we’re tying him up.” John’s tone was final. He sniffled and got himself back together and began to clean his partner up.

“Alright but I suggest that you let me give him the shot.”

John thought about it for a second, “Just give him half.”

Jacobs started to argue but thought better of it and he administered the drug.

“Here,” the doctor handed John a pair of gloves. “Better safe than sorry.”

John looked down at them for a moment and then took them reluctantly and put them on.

“You can go back to work now, doctor.” John didn’t bother to look at Jacobs as he went back to his research. He was much too emotional to interact with him right now.

#

The bleeding had slowed now that Harold’s blood pressure had decreased. John went to the sink and drew some warm water from the faucet. 

He moved on auto-pilot; he soaked and wrung out the rags he found in a cabinet full of miscellaneous research equipment.

He went back and stood over Harold and looked at him desolately. His clothes were filthy with dried and fresh blood staining almost every square inch of the front of his dress shirt and pants. He never imagined seeing Harold in anything but pristine clothing before and the sight made him sick.

As Harold lay there motionless John re-dressed the mangled and swollen wound to his arm and then unbuttoned his blood stained shirt. It was beginning to stiffen in some places where the blood had begun to dry, and opened it. He methodically began to wash his pale torso, being careful not to go near the wound to his throat just yet. 

He wanted to cut the shirt off of him as he had the undershirt but didn’t have anything better to replace it with. He didn’t want to take the chance of him getting cold. Although he hated to, John left the filthy garment on for now.

John finished wiping Harold’s chest and stomach off gently, not really able to get the blood stains off completely, and he again observed the immense heat coming from his body. He took Harold’s glasses from his face reverently and placed them next to him on the table and began to wipe the blood from his pain-ridden face. 

He found himself thinking about the past and about how he had spent so much of his free time trying to unnerve and fluster his partner, the thoughts of all the teasing that he had subjected Harold to had now made him feel ashamed of himself.

As he dabbed the cut to Harold’s nose... he felt hot tears running down his face and he paused and turned away to dry them. 

When he turned back Harold’s tired blood-shot eyes were staring straight up at the harsh ceiling lights above him unblinking and he lay completely still.

For one horrifying moment John thought Harold was dead. He took a deep breath and a huge sigh of relief when he saw the rise and fall of his chest and held his position to wait and see what Harold was going to do.

When Harold made no effort to react in any way to the environment around him, he didn’t even seem to realize that his glasses were missing... John began to get extremely nervous all over again.

He stood next to him and slowly and calmly put his hand on Harold’s shoulder.

“Finch?” He squeezed gently. 

Harold squinted and turned his head towards him. “John… where are we?” John could tell the moment the pain came back on him instantly.

Harold gasped at its intensity and squeezed his eyes shut, clenching his hands into tight fists, taking deep breaths and exhaling at a measured pace.

“Harold, you were attacked by a dog, remember?" John watched helplessly as Harold’s body trembled with pain.

“Yes, vividly. What about the doctor?” He asked through gritted teeth. 

Leave it to Finch to worry about someone else instead of worrying about himself, John thought exasperatingly. He replaced his glasses.

“He’s fine, he’s trying to find a cure for you Finch.” John realized that Harold hadn’t remembered the dog had rabies when Finch opened his eyes and looked at him in confusion.

Then it dawned on him. “Oh yes… I remember now.” Harold made to touch his neck before John stopped him.

“I still have to patch you up, don’t touch it.”

Harold brought his arm up and looked at the wide bandage that covered it and he cringed at the remembrance of what was underneath.

“There’s no cure for rabies John,” He stated as a matter of fact.

“No... not normally Finch but this strain… the doctor has been working on this particular strain and is very close to finding a cure.” John looked at Harold for some sign of understanding of his assertion but Finch didn’t have a reaction.

“Did you hear me?” John noted the lack of emotion at his proclamation and nothing was offered.

“Harold did you hear me…? There’s hope,” he stressed passionately.

Harold smiled sadly and closed his eyes, “It’s already too late.”

Harold began to shiver violently as his teeth chattered and John was at a complete loss as to what he should do. 

He stood in misery and watched his friend suffering through the pain and torment that his body was putting him through with a heavy heart. It was out of his hands, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it and it infuriated him.


	7. Chapter 7

“Finch listen to me… you have to fight it. You have to hang in there and fight… please.”

Harold looked at him, “I am John… you have no idea how hard I’m fighting.” His whole body shook with fever and chills. “You have to accept it though… if I don’t make it.” He had to make John understood how important it was to him that John continued the work they had started together.

Harold began to weep quietly. He knew his chances were slim at best; he had accepted a long time ago that he wouldn’t live very long in their line of work... but the thought of dying, possibly without anyone there to continue his life’s mission, made him feel hopeless.

“John promise me…” Harold found John's hand and gripped it tightly, swallowing back the pain as he tried to get his point across. “There’s no one else… promise me that you’ll keep saving them.” With great effort, he peered straight into John’s eyes.

John closed his eyes and choked back a sob of his own, “I promise.”

Harold’s hand loosened in his and John opened his eyes to find Harold smiling at him in relief.

“Thank you,” he sighed.

John suddenly remembered that he had retrieved Harold’s pain medication from the car. “Do you want to take a couple of your oxys Finch? It’s obvious that you’re suffering.”

“I don’t think I would be able to swallow them,” he replied shakily. “I’m not even sure they would help.”

“We can try, I can break them down and dissolve them in some water; it will be easier.” John moved to find the bottled water that they had laid down somewhere. 

Suddenly Harold’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he began to convulse on the table. His body shook terribly as he went into a fit.

John searched quickly to find something to put into Harold’s mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue off. Finally, he had to resort to forcing his mouth open and pushing a towel between his teeth. Again his wounds became an issue as the blood flow through his body spiked with adrenaline.

John ran his fingers through his hair and over his face in concern and frustration as he watched his partner once again go through hell while he could do nothing but watch. 

He moved to hold Harold’s shoulders down against the table beneath him while he continued to jerk and quake for what seemed like hours. Harold whimpered while his body assaulted him ruthlessly and John was still greatly concerned by the fact that he wasn’t sweating.

John knew enough about human physiology to know that Harold’s body was being poisoned by not releasing toxins through perspiration. He also knew the higher the temperature was without being able to release those toxins... the more chance of brain damage. 

The immense heat of his body would, in essence, begin to cook his brain and vital organs. This above all else scared the hell out of him.

The tremors slowly abated and Harold’s sounds of distress finally quieted.

“Harold?” John prodded gently, trying to get his attention focused on him rather than the pain and aches. He had to try and help him get past the current wave of torment and fixate on something else, outside of his anguish.

“Harold, I need you to tell me the first one hundred numbers of pi.” 

Harold gasped and raised his fist in the air angrily and came down hard on the table beneath him.

John was taken off guard. He wasn’t sure what kind of reaction his request would garner but the last thing he expected was anger.

“Finch…?” 

Harold opened his bleary eyes and clenched his jaw together and again slammed his fist onto the table. He did it again, grunting in exertion with each blow.

John was taken aback by the force of impact the action drew. Harold made the same motion again and again repetitively until John stepped in to stop him.

John seized his arm mid-swing and forced it down along his body. Harold glared at him.

“Finch, calm down or you’ll hurt yourself.” John looked at him and saw rage in Harold’s eyes as he held his arm down. He could feel it emanating from him and his cold hardened expression sent a chill through him.

“Take your hands off me.” Harold looked at him and spoke with such venom John was stunned.

“Finch…” John had felt like he had been physically struck by his partner’s reaction. He had never in the entire time they had been working together, seen or felt such animosity from him before and he didn’t know what to do. He stepped back and stood there frozen.

“You need to leave Mister Reese.” Harold sat up on the table and swung his legs around. He made no sign that he was in pain other than the telltale perpetual grimace on his face.

“Get out now.” Harold’s voice had a coolly detached inflection to it devoid of any emotion. He glared at John and lowered himself to stand beside the table.

“Finch please…” John was glued to the spot.

“You’d better leave now while you still can.” Harold’s voice was low and menacing and John felt helpless as Harold stood there staring daggers at him. “I’ll kill you.” He warned John again.

He was going to do something rash and John had to think fast before he would have to defend himself and possibly hurt Harold even more.

John spotted what was left in the syringe Jacobs had left behind but would it be enough to knock Harold out? He couldn’t be sure but he had to try. He had to restrain him before one of them did something that they would regret. 

John had never even contemplated harming Harold in any way no matter what, until now. He never thought he’d ever have to fight or defend himself against his kind, benevolent partner. 

Jacobs had been right to warn him that it was likely Harold would become aggressive at some point and now he wished that he would have thought better about it. 

He was going to have to subdue Harold while doing as little damage to him as possible. He took a deep breath as Harold staggered towards him.

“Finch please don’t make me hurt you.” For a moment John couldn’t think straight.

Harold didn’t say a word as he lunged at John and stumbled into a counter as John quickly moved out of the way.

Harold caught himself before he fell to the floor and used the counter to steady himself. He could hardly walk, the pain and stress to his body was obvious.

“Finch stop! Your bleeding please let me help you.” John knew that there was very little hope of reasoning with him in his altered state of mind and Harold turned and limped forward again to attack him; this time only making it four steps before he collapsed to the floor in agony.

John saw his chance and went for the syringe that was on the counter behind Harold.

He looked at him in sorrow as he lay on the floor curled into himself gasping for breath. The position of his body was not something Harold would attempt if he were in his right mind. 

John knew that the unusual angle of his spine would have to be extremely painful to his neck but he didn’t seem to be cognizant of that fact. 

As he moved past him on the floor, Harold suddenly reached out and grabbed his leg and tried to pull John to the floor. Harold held on tight and tried to grab his other leg.

“Finch!” John frantically pulled away; he pushed Harold away from himself on instinct he accidentally hit him in the face with his knee. 

Harold fell back to the floor and writhed and thrashed in pain, his entire body was covered in blood as his wounds trickled in a steady stream of gore. 

John hurriedly stuck him in the back and injected what was left in the syringe.

Apparently, it was enough as every ounce of energy Harold seemed to have possessed drained from his body and he went still at John’s feet.

Finally, as he stood and looked down at the mess of limbs that lay before him he lost it. He sat down on the floor next to his partner and stroked his shoulders as he lay there unconscious and he wept for him.

#

 

“He’s been turned, Harold.” Nathan stood in front of him; strikingly handsome as always. Harold couldn’t remember ever seeing him look so well.

“I know.”

“You have to kill him before he kills you.” Nathan sat next to him on the worn leather couch in the library. 

Harold couldn’t say anything more as he sat silently, dazed, staring off into space.

“He needs to be stopped. He’ll go on after he kills you and he’ll kill more innocent people if you don’t stop him now.” Nathan turned towards his partner. “I know it’s not in your nature Harold but think about what will happen if you don’t… think about all of the people that will die needlessly if you can’t do it.” 

Harold knew what he must do, but it didn’t make it any easier for him to contemplate. 

“He will kill you, Harold.”

“Does it matter now if he does? I can’t keep doing this alone. I’ll never be able to find anyone else to replace him… Nor would I want to.” He closed his eyes and sat back into the couch.

“There’s no one else like him Nathan… He’s exceptional,” he smiled sadly... “I never imagined that anyone would be able to brainwash him… not in a million years but apparently, I was wrong. They obviously have techniques that even I can’t contemplate.”

“Be that as it may Harold.”

“I’ve come to have feelings for him outside of business Nathan. He’s been a balm for the sadness and depression of losing you and Grace. He’s my partner now and I care for him a great deal.”

“Look Harold, I know but he’s going to kill you… you must understand that and then more people will die. If you won’t do it to save yourself then you must do it to save them.”

Harold took a deep breath. “I’m just not sure that I can. He’s not the same man the CIA had made him. He has more than redeemed himself and he doesn’t deserve to die Nathan.”

“There’s no point looking at it that way Harold! Maybe he had changed but now he’s been changed back! He’s going to kill again and it’s up to you to stop him…even if you have to die in the process.”

He looked at his former partner as he stood up. “It’s for the best my friend, you’ll be saving countless innocent lives.” Nathan put his hand out to Harold and he took it and pulled himself off the couch.

Harold knew Nathan was right. And he also knew that if he killed John there would be no point in him living afterword, Nathan was right he would die in the process. It would be the only way he could even contemplate killing John, who had come to be his best friend.

Harold felt tears traveling down his face. He had resolved himself to the deed. It was the only way to save all of the people John would kill if he didn’t intervene. Now the question became… how to get it done.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The suffering continues

When John was sure that Harold was out... he got up and hurried to the lab to get Jacobs so he could help him move Harold back up onto the exam table. 

This time, as much as he hated the idea of tying him down, he knew it had to be done. Then they could work on cleaning his blood covered partner up and see to his wounds properly. 

The doctor looked at John as he rushed into the room and immediately knew something terrible had happened.

“Hurry doctor we have to get Harold strapped down and I need you to help me.”

“What Happened?” Jacobs asked anxiously.

“Come with me now. I’ll tell you on the way… we may not have time.” John grabbed the doctor by the arm and directed him out of the room.

“You were right,” John said, “he got aggressive. He tried to attack me.” John couldn’t voice the horrible fact that Harold had told him that he would kill him before he came at him. If he were to say it out loud, it would make it all the worse for being true.

When they got back to the blood streaked room... Harold was still laying on the floor but his body was twitching and he was starting to come around again.

“I gave him the other half of the tranquilizer to knock him out,” John explained as they moved towards him. The doctor handed John a pair of gloves and John looked at him and shook his head.

“His blood is all over me; those won’t do any good now anyway.” John looked down at himself covered in his partner’s blood and almost choked. 

He wasn’t worried for himself, he had no open wounds and time was of the essence. Blood never bothered him before; he’d seen enough in his lifetime to be immune from the grotesqueness of it but the thought that all of this gore came from Finch was almost too much for him to bear.

“We have to get him on the table before he wakes up fully.”

They kneeled down on either side of Harold and each put an arm under his armpit and hauled him up and over to the table.

Finch was drooling; saliva was dripping down his chin and he was groaning with each movement they had to make to get him laid out on the table. His body was still burning up and his skin was still dry.

“What’s going on with the fever, Jacobs?” John asked anxiously. 

“I don’t know John. He should be soaking wet… I have no idea why his body’s not producing perspiration.”

“I’m afraid the only thing we have to strap him down with is duct tape,” Jacobs stated.

John closed his eyes briefly, hating the thought but realizing it was the only choice they had at keeping Finch under control.

“Where is it?” John asked.

“It’s in the supply room on the other side of the building.”

“You get it and hurry back, I don’t want him to get hurt any further.” John replied solemnly as he looked down at his is poor partner.

Jacobs rushed out and Harold writhed on the table semi-conscious, murmuring something about “he’s a good man…” and, “I know I have to...” John couldn’t imagine what was happening in Harold’s mind and he leaned in a little to better hear what he was saying.

Suddenly Finch’s eyes flew open and he grabbed John by the arm... hard.

John pulled away from him quickly as Harold gasped and flinched from the harsh lights and cried out and brought his arm up to shield his eyes from the blindingly painful luminosities... crushing the frames against his face.

“Stop!” Harold cried and thrashed out with his free arm while still covering his eyes with the other.

“Finch!” John felt the adrenaline spike through his own body as he frantically tried to get Harold’s attention.

“It hurts!” Harold shouted again, “the light!”

John didn’t know what else to do so he ran to the wall and quickly hit the light switch. The only light in the room now came through the opened door from the corridor outside.

He ran back over to Harold who had calmed down only slightly and removed his glasses, laying them on the counter behind him. He was now gasping and wheezing trying desperately to breathe. 

John could see his exposed abdomen… violent spasms ran through Harold’s diaphragm causing the necessity of breathing all but impossible with their intensity. His body was turning red from the stress and lack of oxygen.

John did the only thing he knew of to try to calm him down. “Harold…” He placed his hand on the middle of Finch’s chest and spoke to him with a calmness he didn’t feel. “Harold… relax and breathe slowly.” John tried to sooth his partner as best as he could as Harold clutched at his forearm feebly. He was losing his strength by the second… gasping and panting for air.

Harold peered around disjointedly in the dimness of the room as John spoke to him serenely.

“Harold… relax.” He urged him again and was constantly reminded of just how hot Harold’s skin was… he cringed at the thought of the hell he was witnessing. 

“I… can’t!” He gasped weakly, “Nathan… I can’t… do it.”

John was filled with momentary relief as Harold’s demeanor calmed and his body slowly went limp. He could feel the spasms finally abate and his breathing began to slow some. 

“Can you… ever forgive me…?” John knew sadly that Finch was having a conversation with a dead man.

“Nathan…? Please…” He begged feebly looking towards John’s shadowed face as John moved his hand to rest over Finch’s heart.

“I forgive you, Harold,” John answered in reply. It was tearing him up inside but if he could stand in for Finch’s dead partner and give him a modicum of respite… he saw no harm in it.

Finch smiled and closed his eyes. John could feel his heartbeat slowing but didn’t want to remove his hand… not until he was sure the worst was over for now. 

He also needed to assure himself that his partner was still alive and he wouldn’t give up on him. 

John heard Jacobs rushing down the hallway and as soon as he got to the doorway John made eye contact with him. He put his left hand out to indicate that he needed him to slow down and come into the room slowly so as not to disturb his presently calm partner.

Jacobs understood and indeed slowed himself down but reflexively turned the lights back on.

“Nooo!” Finch yelled and brought his hands to his eyes frantically trying to rub the light away as he squirmed on the table.

John shot him a scathing look and immediately Jacobs turned then back off.

“Finch! It’s gone now… stop.” Jacobs ran over to the table and together they pried Harold’s hands away from his face.

His face was completely covered in blood now. He had opened up the cut to his nose and they couldn’t tell if the blood in his eyes was from what he may have done to himself in an effort of blocking out the light or if it came from one of his other wounds.

“I can’t… I’m sorry…” He gasped, “I’m sorry…” Harold was weeping quietly… inconsolable as he apologized over and over again. 

Jacobs looked at John sadly while John shook his head in utter defeat.

Finch had quieted and gone still, apparently either passed out or semi-conscious and although John was extremely hesitant he knew they had to strap Harold down and tend to his wounds without a fight.

He motioned for Jacobs to come with him to the doorway so he could speak to him quietly without Harold hearing the conversation while still having eyes on him.

John whispered, “Listen, any sudden movements, sounds or light freaks him out; we have to bind him without him knowing what’s happening or all hell will break loose.”

“Duct tape isn’t something you can keep quiet John, its noisy what do you propose?”

John kept his eyes on Harold the whole time as he whispered. “Go into the other room and stretch out four double wide strips of it five or six feet long. After that come and get me. Hopefully, he’ll still be docile enough that I can help you get the strips into the room without him knowing it.”

John took a deep breath and hung his head. 

“John… I know how you feel. I understand that you don’t want to do this to him but I promise you that if you don’t he will die… there’s no doubt in my mind.” Jacobs put his hand on John’s shoulder. “I need to get back to my research if he’s to have any chance whatsoever.”

“We need to do this, if we don’t get him under complete control and treat his wounds properly, he’ll either bleed to death or do something else will end up killing him before I’ve had the possibility to help him.” 

John nodded, “Go ahead, I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Jacobs squeezed John’s shoulder. “I’ll hurry.” He went down the hall into a room and closed the door behind him.

“John?” Harold called out.

John rushed over and took the blood-stained hand Harold had raised by his side.

“I’m here Finch.” He grasped the hot limb reassuringly.

“I couldn’t do it,” Harold stated. “Please don’t… do it either John,” he said weakly.

John had no clue what he was referencing but knew the best response. “I won’t Harold… I promise.”

Harold smiled and looked towards his face. “I knew… you wouldn’t.” He whispered and grasped John’s hand as tight as his weakened body could manage.

John watched on as the smile faded from him from his partner’s lips and Finch’s eyes closed. His grip loosened in John’s hand his breathing grew shallow and John thought with great fear and trepidation that he could be watching Harold’s last breaths.

Again the pang John felt in his heart threatened to undo him and tears flooded his eyes. He held onto his partner’s lax hand and the blur of Harold’s bloody face until the tears overflowed and ran down his face.

He silently prayed to a God he wasn’t sure existed that Harold would come through this nightmare alive somehow but he really couldn’t envision it happening that way. He truly feared that Harold was too far gone.

But… if by some miracle, his benevolent partner came through it alive he would seriously re-consider his take on religion.

He felt hopeless and adrift in his own feelings of guilt and self-hatred for allowing this horrific fate to fall upon his gentle friend. If Harold didn’t make it... he wouldn’t either and was resigned to do away with himself as soon as the opportunity presented itself.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still a very sad and emotional ride for everyone involved. If you don't want to feel depressed I advise you not to read this!

John let go of Harold’s hand hesitantly and gently laid it alongside him on the table. He felt the despairing disconnection from his partner intensely as he walked over to the sink to soak the last few clean hand towels he could find in some warm water. 

He had taken the two high powered flashlights and directed their beams up to the ceiling. The indirect light wasn’t ideal but he could see well enough for what he needed to do.

He moved on auto-pilot as he rung the warm water from the towels and prepared to clean some of the blood off of his partner. 

He walked back over to him and unbuttoned the only two buttons that were left on Harold’s stiff and soiled dress shirt and laid the garment open fully, exposing Harold’s torso. His ample chest hair was caked and matted with dried blood and other bodily fluids. 

He was glad for the dimness of the room in this instance as he continued with his task. He swallowed down the lump that was forming in his throat at the appalling sight.

John knew that he should wait for Jacobs to come back to the room just in case Harold woke up and flipped out again... but he just couldn’t bring himself to wait another second to wash the blood from Harold’s face.

He started at his forehead and as thoroughly as he could manage without disturbing him, he worked down the sides of his face; gently wiping the dried gore from his cheeks and around his mouth. 

His face was still burning up as was the rest of his body and the creases between and around his eyes told of the constant pain he was in with no relief even in his unconscious state.

Harold didn’t move… he laid perfectly still but for his breathing which was slow and shallow. John continued the emotionally agonizing task of revealing his partner’s more natural pallor until his face was almost free of the bloodstains.

He got to the wound on Harold’s nose and decided to wait until they got him safely restrained before he cleaned and dressed it again. He was almost sure Harold wouldn’t feel anything but he didn’t want to risk another outburst and have to try and handle him by himself.

He stood and looked down at Harold and felt detached for a long moment. He felt almost disjointed as he surveyed the devastation that had been inflicted to his partner’s poor body. It was strange and the darkness of the room didn’t help the odd feeling of being untethered.

Harold’s wounds were completely exposed and seeping thick blood unremittingly. The tendons in his neck were visible even in the shadows of the room and were a stark and grotesque reminder of what he had gone through. 

The mangled flesh and muscle exposed on Harold’s arm was frightful to see as well. All at once John felt everything come crashing back down on him. 

The brutal awareness and reality of the situation hit him full-force and he turned away. Stifling a sob he took a deep breath. This was Finch lying here dying in front of his eyes. He was overwhelmed yet again. He felt sick and desperately fought back the urge to vomit.

He took a few moments and cursed himself for losing focus then shook himself mentally and tried to regain his control. He had to pull himself together if Harold were to have any chance at all. 

He began to prioritize the events that had to be put into motion immediately.

Harold’s neck wound was first on the list; John would have to put his military and medical field experience to work and sanitize and close that particular injury as quickly as possible. 

He hoped like hell Jacobs would at least have a sewing kit on the premises. Nylon thread would work to close the wounds. The man lived here so he would surely have basic domestic implements for regular living. He crossed his fingers. 

He couldn’t push himself to plan more than one crucial step at a time. One bite at a time. John remembered fondly Harold telling him that when he was a kid growing up in Iowa his father had told him that the when things seemed insurmountable... that he should approach the situation as if he were to have to eat an elephant… the way to accomplish the task was one bite at a time. 

John found himself actually smiling slightly as he recalled how good it made him feel that Harold had shared such a sweet part of his childhood memories with him.

John understood that he was not a surgeon and that was definitely what was needed here but he’d had a lot of his own personal experience in closing wounds. Granted none of the injuries that he had ever dealt with were this severe or in such a dire location and with Harold’s prior injuries added to the mix... he was quickly stressing himself out.

But it had to be done, there was no other option. If Harold’s neck wound wasn’t treated and closed quickly to mitigate blood loss and infection, even if rabies weren’t an issue, the wound could be fatal. It was just one more thing added to the growing list of complications that could kill him. It may already be too late, John thought desperately. 

Where the hell was Jacobs? How long does it take to tear off some damned tape into strips!? Of course, it really hadn’t been that long John reminded himself. It felt like hours since Jacobs had closed himself off into the room down the hall and John then realized that it hadn’t even been ten minutes.

So he stood next to Harold and again placed his hand above his partner’s heart to reassure himself that it was still beating. It was painful to even consider what hell and torment Harold was living through as his body burned up and seeped blood from all of his wounds. 

As selfish as it might be he couldn’t bring himself to want to allow Harold to stop suffering. He couldn’t let him go. He felt like an asshole but that’s what he considered himself now anyway for not being there to prevent it from happening in the first place.

Finally, he heard the door down the hall open and he took a deep breath in preparation for the next step in the huge undertaking ahead as he waited for Jacobs to return.

#

John walked to the doorway and met the doctor there.

“Are you ready to do this John?” Jacobs whispered. He saw the fear and trepidation in John’s expression as he came towards him.

“Ready or not we have to do it now,” John replied anxiously. He took one more long look at Harold laying still and quiet on the table. 

“We’ll start with his upper torso; he’s so weak right now I don’t think we should have much trouble.” John shook his head. 

“God I just wish we didn’t have to do this to him.” He remarked sadly.

“I know John. There is no choice, let’s get it done, I’m so close in my research... all I need is a little more time.” Jacobs looked at John encouragingly.

“Alright, we go get the first strip and bring it in here as quietly as we can. I’ll need to put something over him so the tape doesn’t actually stick to his skin. Once we get into place, we try to strap him to the table without him waking up. If we can accomplish that much... the rest should go easier.”

Jacobs nodded in agreement. John walked over to Harold and as much as he hated to do it, John closed the awful dress shirt back up, covering Harold’s body in preparation for the binding.

The two men went to the room Jacobs had done his task in. They each took one end of the first strip of duct tape, carefully making sure they didn’t let it stick to itself on the way back to the room.

They walked quietly over to Harold and stood on either side of his upper body.

John nodded and they brought both ends of the tape over Harold’s upper chest and lowered it to lay on top of him. They each pulled their ends down firmly and around to attach the sticky tape to the bottom of the table.

Harold still made no signs of movement. They stood up and as quietly as they could they went back to retrieve the second double stripped length of tape and came back to the room.

They made the same move but this time they applied the strip to lay over Harold’s stomach... trapping his arms that laid beside him underneath the tape.

This time Harold began to stir. He opened his eyes and looked up at the shadows on the ceiling. He was confused and tried to sit up but found that he couldn’t manage it.

“John…?” Harold called out weakly.

John looked at Jacobs, unsure of what to do. 

Harold couldn’t see the two men and Jacobs indicated the doorway and John hesitantly followed him to retrieve the next strip of tape.

While they just stepped out into the hallway, John heard Harold panting in exertion as he fought weakly against the bindings.

“John!?” Harold called into the empty room around him.

John faltered until Jacobs caught him by the arm and pulled him into the room to get the next strip of tape.

“We can’t stop now John! We have to finish what we started.” Jacobs felt terrible but knew it was for the best.

John didn’t say anything and tears came to his eyes as they each took their ends once again and headed back to Harold.

“John… please… I can’t breathe!” Harold was wheezing as they got back to the room.

He was kicking and struggling in vain, trying to sit up and having a hard time catching his breath.

John’s heart was breaking as he stopped short in the doorway and watched the fight drain from his partner’s body... he was trying desperately to get air into his lungs after straining against his bonds.

“John… why are you…?” he gasped. “Please… help me…”

John knew that Harold couldn’t see him from where they stood in the doorway and he found that he couldn’t move just yet. Harold was calling and pleading with him and he had no answer that would excuse what John was doing to him.

Harold wasn’t going anywhere; the tape was holding against his weakened body and there was no need to add more. He let go of his end of the strip numbly.

John turned away and walked into the hallway. He slid down the wall and quietly wept as Jacobs stood watching Harold from the doorway. He was slowly losing his grip on consciousness again, spontaneously kicking out with his uninjured leg futilely in effort to get free. 

Jacobs found himself weeping as well.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More suffering... but possibly a light at the end of the tunnel? We shall see...

A few moments of silence passed and Jacobs looked down at John despairingly, “I’m so sorry.”

John got hold of himself and they listened as Harold called out again.

“John…?” He beckoned weakly. “Mister Reese…?” He tried again louder and more desperate for his partner.

John stood up and wiped his eyes and walked past Jacobs to go back in with him. “Get back to work doctor.” He turned back to him for a moment and added, “Please hurry.”

“I will John.” Jacobs hurried back to his research.

“I’m here Finch.” John took Harold’s hand and leaned over him.

“John…” Harold sighed in relief, “I’ve given all I can…” He said weakly, “It’s not enough…”

“Harold,” John began sadly. “Do you know where we are?”

“I’ve given all I can…” Harold repeated as he looked into John’s eyes. “But we’re still under peril.”

“Harold listen. Don’t give up.” He squeezed Harold’s hand, “Please don’t give up. Jacobs is close to a cure but you have to keep fighting.” John could tell that Finch was only semi-lucid and could only hope that he was getting through to him.

“I’ll try John… but you have to warn him,” Harold replied weakly.

John wasn’t sure who Harold was talking about at the moment but it wasn’t important. “I’ll warn him, Finch… I promise.”

Harold smiled through the pain and confusion and closed his eyes, “You’ll like him, John. He’s the best of us all… I know you can save him this time.”

“I will. Now just stay quiet and relax for now. We’re going to have to treat your wounds very soon and I want you to rest a little bit first, can you do that for me?” John knew Harold must be talking about Nathan and felt a pang of sympathy for him.

“Sure…” He smiled and let himself drift away. 

As Harold lay bound to the table his mind was a flurry of random thoughts and imaginings. His consciousness seemed to be hovering somewhere between realms. He could feel himself being pulled and fighting against two trains of thought.

On one hand, he knew that no matter what happened to him ultimately, as long as he lived, his goal and mission in life was to save the lives of as many innocent people as he could. 

Then he could leave their shared undertaking with John after he died… to pick up the mantle and carry on without him. He could trust John to enlist other assets and take care of everything involved. He could be happy with that.

On the other hand… what if John had been turned as Nathan had told him he had? What wounds had John mentioned treating? 

Maybe Nathan was right and John was going to try and get information from him. Why else would he be restrained? He felt himself starting to spin out of control and felt his heart begin to race.

His eyes flew open before he could spin into complete and utter oblivion and the shadowy room was now spiraling in his vision making him want to retch. 

He could feel himself losing his grip and being flung into a terrifying vortex of incongruity and his mind desperately tried to grasp onto something fixed… something tangible.

“John… help me, John!” He was going to die; he just knew his time had come. He couldn’t latch onto anything and squirmed desperately trying to free himself… to find purchase before he spun into the final black abyss of death and obscurity.

Suddenly, there was a warm presence beside him in the dim blur of his surroundings. A warm hand was now touching his cheek. 

He felt a momentary respite from the fear and the pain that encompassed him. He almost felt hope. Then he heard the calm voice of his father.

“You’re going to be okay Harold, calm down, you’re going to be just fine.” John stroked his partner’s face and Harold seemed to take comfort from the touch and immediately began to stop struggling. “That’s good; you’re doing it, just breathe easy.”

Harold smiled up at the indistinct figure and tears filled his eyes, “I miss you, dad.”

John’s heart clenched as he looked at his poor partner and continued to stroke his excessively hot face. He was delirious again and John was losing hope.

“Dad?” Harold looked towards John’s face as he stood above him… searching for his eyes in the darkness.

John didn’t know what else to do so he acknowledged Harold’s imagined illusion and answered, “Yes son?”

“Are you happy?” He asked expectantly and winced in pain.

John was crushed by the innocent question. “Yes… I’m happy, Harold,” He answered, forcing his voice not to break.

“Hmm… I’m glad,” Harold replied, “You aren’t disappointed in me?” 

“Never,” John stated resolutely as tears welled in his eyes.

“Thank you, dad… for everything.” Harold smiled in contentment, “I love you...” He closed his eyes and fell unconscious.

John held onto the limp hand in his and closed his eyes, letting the tears run freely down his face. 

He placed Harold’s hand back on the table and went to ask Jacobs where he would find what he needed to close Harold’s wounds. He knew time was of the essence and hurried to set out with his plan.

John walked in to find Jacobs excited and hopeful. “John, I’ve cracked the code! I’m sure of it!”

John felt a sudden wave of optimism flood his system. “You can save him?” He asked anxiously.

“Yes, if I can produce a serum quickly enough I can give him the first dose and we’ll know then whether it’s going to work or not…” John looked at him critically.

“Look, John, I’m confident.” He smiled, “I’ve been close for so long now I almost can’t believe it may be true! We just have to get the first round in him and that should be enough to keep him alive until the next step.”

“How long will the serum take to get ready?” John asked eagerly. 

“I’m not sure but it shouldn’t be too long, I’m determined to save our friend!”

“Then hurry up!” John exclaimed. “He doesn’t have much time left.”

“I need to try and close his wounds as best as I can but I need supplies, do you have them on site?” Jacobs pointed to an upper cabinet in the room, “You’ll want to inject him with more sedative before you start.” Jacobs pulled another dose into a syringe and handed it off to John.

“Good luck,” Jacobs said, then got back to work.

Thankfully the doctor had the supplies necessary to stitch up the gaping injuries his partner had sustained. He grabbed everything, including a vial of lidocaine in which to numb the affected areas.

John took the surgical supplies back to the room and set them down next to the table. 

Harold was still unconscious and as he looked at the bloody mess that covered Harold’s entire body... he took a deep breath and as gently as he could, he injected the sedative into Harold’s arm. 

Harold didn’t register anything; he just lay there quiet and still and breathed unevenly.

John first began by cleaning the dried blood from Harold’s face with a warmed wet towel he had rung out from earlier. 

There was still no reaction from his suffering partner and he continued until his face and as much as his undamaged neck as he could get to was wiped free of the gore.

John took a large cotton swab and cleaned the bridge of Harold’s nose with antiseptic and covered the cut with a large band-aid. He was grateful that Harold was still completely unconscious and could seemingly not feel anything.

He was going to have to turn the light on for the next step so he took one of the cleanest towels he could find and draped it across Harold’s eyes to block out as much of the harsh fluorescents as he could. He walked over to the wall and turned the lights on, squinting his own eyes from their intensity for a few seconds until he got used to them. He walked back over to his partner and began.

The neck wound was clearly the biggest obstacle to overcome and John was again grateful that he could get to the wound without having to unbind him. 

But he would have to cut much of Harold’s dress shirt away and was a bit nervous as he began cutting through the fabric.

He was careful as he continued at a slow pace and kept watch of Harold’s reactions. He finally removed the last hindrance to the neck wound.

John was shocked and wanted to throw up as he finally got a good look at the mangled, gaping flesh again in the light.

He had seen more than his share of human flesh ripped and torn away from bone. He had seen human remains in various states of decay. 

He’d even seen a man blown to pieces right in front of his eyes but none of that had prepared him for seeing the ghastly sight of oozing, infected tissue and flesh that hung sickeningly from his partner’s neck.

Perhaps it was because this was Finch he was seeing. The most benevolent and kindest man he had ever known in his life and it was nothing short of a travesty that something this horrifying should befall a man like him. 

Whatever the reason for his hesitancy John found that he couldn’t hold the scalpel steady enough to begin removing the necessary pieces of infected skin from the wound. 

He walked away for a moment and tried to remove himself from the personal emotional devastation he was feeling. He would take two minutes to himself to calm down before he drew from his mental training to start the procedure of closing the horrific wound.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a little hurt/comfort just in time for Christmas! Happy Holidays everyone! Feel free to leave a comment if you would be so kind. Thanks to you all!!!

He took a few calming breaths and walked back over to his partner and looked down at the poor soul again. 

He took another deep breath and let it out slowly. He was as ready as he’d ever be. 

After making sure the towel was tucked firmly around Harold’s head and blocking the light from Harold’s eyes, John placed the scalpel to Harold’s mangled flesh at his throat. Before he made the first cut however, he pulled it away hurriedly. 

What was he doing? 

He shook himself and came to his senses. If Harold were to wake up suddenly and made one wrong move, John could have potentially cut his carotid artery and he could bleed out on the table. 

If that happened, there wouldn’t be a damn thing he, or Jacobs for that matter, could have done about it. This wasn’t a trauma or operating room. 

What a foolish thing he had almost done. He stood there in shock, paralyzed with fear from the realization that he could have easily just killed his partner.

Harold took that exact moment to wake up and stirred on the table sluggishly. 

The sedative John had given him had evidently been useless and Harold instinctively attempted to raise his hand to his eyes. “Nathan?” he murmured quietly as he started to come around, and then more anxiously when he found that he was effectively blind. “Please… where are you…?”

John was alarmed and began to panic himself as Harold became more animated. He kicked out with his good leg haphazardly and ineffectually, and tried to move his arms, attempting to get free of the sticky straps that held him down. 

John was becoming more and more concerned by the damage Harold could unwittingly be doing to himself with his frenzied display. 

He had to calm Harold down or else risk a breakdown of some sort right then and there. Harold couldn’t be still as he lay there and John’s heart sank with the realization that he was not in his right mind again as he pleaded with his dead partner for help.

“Nathan... I can’t see…. why can’t I see!?” Harold was convinced that he was blind and the stress and grief from that thought made him weep openly and his breathing was too fast. “What’s happened… to me… please!” he sobbed in between trying to catch his breath. 

Why had Nathan done this to him, had someone made him do it? And why was he being ignored, what did he want from him?

Harold was fidgety in all of his limbs but seemed as though he wasn’t able to turn his head. 

John was concerned with that and again with all the struggling Harold was doing under the tape. It was just barely holding him down now and John could see that it was beginning to stretch and loosen with the frantic movement going on beneath it. 

He had to get Harold under control or face having to deal with him on his own and possibly making matters worse. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if he was able to get loose from his bonds.

He took Harold’s fisting and flailing hand in his and grimaced from the heat the appendage still radiated. He looked at his partner closely and saw that Harold had finally, mercifully, began to sweat. 

That small sign gave John renewed determination and hope that they might get him out of this nightmare alive. 

He took a calming breath, hoping to transfer some comfort into his poor partner through the tender touch.

“Finch, Calm down. I’m here,” John tried to sooth him and looked down at their joined hands and squeezed gently. 

Harold stilled for just a moment. “I had to cover your eyes so the light wouldn’t hurt them, you’re not blind I promise you.” 

“Why can’t I move?” Finch asked apprehensively and continued to squirm, trying to get free. Only to find it seemed to be a pointless endeavor and he began to panic further, “Please… why are you doing this to me?” he pleaded brokenly through his dry throat. “Why Nathan…? Help me… please!” he gasped breathlessly, beginning to wear himself out already. 

He started to hyperventilate. John needed to stop him and quiet him down immediately.

“Harold calm down. I’m going to uncover your eyes, but I’m going to turn the lights out first. Just hold on a second and I’ll explain what’s happening.” John put his hand on Harold’s shoulder and waited to see if Harold had understood him. 

He seemed to at least know what John was asking of him as he quieted some but he could tell that Finch was highly agitated and distressed, and very close to fully freaking out.

“Please, hurry Nathan… I can’t… I can’t stand it any longer!” Harold huffed and panted through the pain and discomfort and once again, John’s heart was breaking for him.

“Calm down, I’m here. I just have to turn the lights back out.” John hit the light switch once again casting the room into darkness and shadows. 

He walked back over and turned the flashlight on to illuminate the ceiling above Harold and leaned over him. “I’m going to remove the covering now Finch. Just try and relax for me.”

Harold startled at the touch of John’s hand on his shoulder and when John took the covering off of his eyes, he looked up at the tall shadow that stood over him and breathed a small sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Nathan.” Harold smiled up at his partner, “But, why have you done this to me…? Have I done something wrong?” he asked mildly.

John almost lost it. Tears welled up in his eyes at the innocent question. Harold still thought he was talking to Nathan and he didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise.

John couldn’t talk for a few moments and Harold continued, “I trust you… you can do no wrong in my eyes… I didn’t mean it Nathan. I’m sorry.” 

John wanted to scream at his impotency to help his partner. The unfairness of it all was enough to make him want to lash out at the world. He took Harold’s hand again and rubbed the top of it gently.

“You did nothing wrong my friend. You’ve gotten hurt and we have to be careful that it doesn’t get worse.” John stroked Harold’s face, “We’ll get you straightened out real soon and then I’ll be able to let you up, alright?”

Harold smiled back at the shadow and replied weakly, “Of course… you’ve always known what was best.” 

John could tell that Harold was drained of all of his energy, “Could I sleep some Nathan?” he asked expectantly, “I’m really tired.”

“Yes, go to sleep, I’ll wake you soon.” John replied sadly and continued stroking his face. 

“Thank you…” Harold replied and closed his eyes.

John just stood there and held Harold’s hand until his grip loosened and he seemed to fall asleep.

“Rest my friend,” John said and laid Harold’s hand back down beside him. 

He had to find out what the latest was on Jacob’s progress. Time was running out for his partner.


	12. Chapter 12

When he got to the doorway John looked back at Finch lying there… so still and silent. 

The bloodied, mangled and tattered soul on the table was a dreadful sight and John swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat. 

Harold would be mortified were he in his right mind to find himself looking so out of sorts and unkempt; to look anything less than perfect would never do in his world. 

John couldn’t help the small smile that came unbidden to his mouth while he envisioned his always immaculately groomed and attired partner becoming distraught and embarrassed by his appearance. 

He mentally shook himself from such silly and irrelevant thoughts. He turned and headed down the hall, toward the room Jacobs was in, wondering all the while about what they were going to have to do to Harold and how was it going to affect him. 

Harold had already been through so much and John hated the idea of more trauma on top of it. He hoped that whatever Jacobs was able to come up with for curing the deadly virus, it wouldn’t need to be the kind that had to be injected with a series of shots in the stomach, the one’s that had normally been routine for rabies in the past. 

John had seen the pain and discomfort that infected people had to endure with the horrible virus first hand. 

The sheer number of shots alone that had to be administered into a person’s stomach of all places was tough to witness, never mind being the one on the receiving end. 

He cringed at the memory he’d seen at the time. He was young and had just enlisted into the Army when his unit had been sent out to clear a small community of its occupants. There had been a pack of feral dogs running loose in the small Middle Eastern town they were sent to. 

An outbreak of rabies had taken out three people and had infected four more when they were attacked by the pack of vicious canines.

That had been a long time ago though, surely they’ve made advancements by now. He’d pray that Jacobs would be able to cure Harold by way of another method. 

He hated the idea of anymore sharp objects pushed into his poor partner’s abused flesh again. He got to the open doorway and went in nervously.

#

“It’s gotta stop, Harold.” Finch turned around to find Nathan kicked back in the chair at his computer desk. They were surrounded by the warm lighting and comfortable atmosphere of the library. 

His size fourteen feet were crossed over each other and propped up on the desk in front of one of his many keyboards. His hands were entwined and were placed comfortably against the back of his head; the perfect picture of relaxation and smugness all rolled into one.

“Would you care to elaborate on that statement?” Harold replied casually as he walked over to Nathan and smacked his feet off the desk.

Nathan almost broke his façade of perfect composure as he just managed to catch himself from toppling over in the chair and sat up straight as if nothing had happened. 

Harold grinned to himself; it would have been a good laugh had his large blonde partner not managed to save himself and tumble to the floor in an ungainly heap. 

As long as he hadn’t hurt himself in the process, that is. He sat down as soon as Nathan got the message and vacated his chair. He walked around the table, leaning forward on it to face Harold, looking at him grimly.

“Don’t play coy with me. You know what I mean Harold.” Nathan’s air of playfulness suddenly turned serious, “The man is a trained killer, a pro... and you don’t stand a chance against him Harold.”

“What are you implying?” he asked nervously, “He’s not that man anymore Nathan. He’s a good man; he’s redeemed himself tenfold and continues to do so day after day. I trust him.”

Nathan stood to his full height and walked back around the table and stood in front of Harold. “That’s what I was afraid of, my friend.” He began, “I know you think he’s changed for the better. That he’s paid for his past sins against humanity, but I don’t think you’re using your brain, Harold. He’s got you fooled and I’m afraid you’ve been blinded to it.”

“What are you insinuating? Do you think I can be that wrong about someone? I’m telling you, Nathan, you’re the one that’s wrong. I have studied every file there is on John’s past. Every mission he’s ever participated in… I have gone to painstaking lengths to uncover every detail and I know this man inside and out.” Harold felt himself getting heated over the subject as Nathan stood there shaking his head in disbelief, “Listen to me and understand what I’m saying Nathan because, quite frankly, I’m extremely insulted and to put it frankly, I’m pissed off.” Harold stood up to better make his point, even though he was a clear seven or eight inches shorter than his oldest friend, “I trust him, Nathan… I trust him with my life.”

Nathan put his hands on either side of Harold’s upper arms and looked him in the eye, “That’s exactly what I’m worried about, my friend,” Nathan smiled sadly at him and Harold wanted to scream and yell at his total misunderstanding of John. He took a calming breath, “Nathan, thank you for your concern, but it’s totally unwarranted in this instance… as well as uncalled for.” 

Nathan closed his eyes and prepared himself for the expected backlash as he began, “Just think about this for a minute, Harold; the man has been conditioned his entire career to make people believe anything he wants them to believe. He’s playing you and you’re falling for it.”

“How dare you…” Harold spoke bitterly, “you think I’m an idiot, it seems.” Nathan started to speak but Harold raised his hand to stop him as he continued. “I’m no fool and I might even go so far as to say that I’m an intelligent man as well. I’m not naïve either, Nathan.”

“I can tell you with an absolute certainty that John would never hurt me or endanger our mission… for any reason. So you can just drop the entire question right now. You’ll never be able to change my mind on this so just… stop it.” Harold drew a long breath and waited anxiously for Nathan’s reaction.

He didn’t know exactly what he was expecting but whatever the case may be, his mind was made up.

Nathan took a deep breath of his own. He was afraid that the next thing he was going to pitch was either going to end their relationship or devastate and knock the wind from his best friend’s sails. 

Either way, it was a no win scenario but he had to get on with it, “Harold… why do you suppose John has had you restrained? Why are you are being held captive?” And why has he withheld from you the means for you to see clearly by? Think about it Harold, you’re a prisoner… why?”

Harold narrowed his eyes while he thought about the question. He turned away, breaking Nathan’s physical contact with him.

He stood there with his back to Nathan, not knowing what to say to him in return. Harold found that he had no answers to the questions. 

He was completely bewildered for a long moment; he stood there in a daze until suddenly he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, “I’m sorry, Harold… I know that you’ve come to really like this guy but please… just think about it.” 

Harold pulled away from Nathan a second time and sat heavily in his chair. He looked away and towards the large window along the wall. It was dark outside, night had fallen, there was nothing to see beyond the gloom and the air inside the library abruptly turned just as black.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new dilemma for the boy's... Nathan has Harold convinced that John's the enemy.

“I’ve almost gotten it ready John.” Jacobs was standing at the counter, measuring a precise amount of liquid and combining it with another as John crossed the threshold and entered the room. “I’m putting the final touches on it now and then we’ll be ready to go.”

John walked over to him eagerly, “How soon will we know if it’s going to work?” He was exhausted. Physically and mentally… right on the verge of a break down.

He just wanted everything to stop. He wanted Harold to be alright, he needed him to be okay and not just for his sake but for his own as well. He couldn’t even attempt to contemplate continuing their life’s purpose without having Harold by his side.

Jacobs took a moment to stop what he was doing to look at John. The poor guy looked ragged and Jacobs felt for him. “Once I administer the first injection we should start to see a change within an hour.”

John’s heart sank, “First injection?” he asked downcast, _more than one, just as he’d feared_ , “How many more will there be?”

“If it works as it should and I have every reason to believe it will, there will be a total of three,” Jacobs replied.

John took a deep breath, “Oh. Good… I was afraid there’d be twenty or more,” he chuckled nervously.

Jacobs smiled at him, “And I bet you thought they’d be injected into his stomach too?” he laughed.

John nodded, “Yeah,” he grinned back, “thank goodness I was wrong.”

Jacobs’ smile faltered and he went back to his calculations and asked, “How is he?”

John took another deep breath, “He’s asleep at the moment. He’s been hallucinating, thinking and talking to me like I was his dead father at times and then his dead partner most recently.” John closed his eyes and shook his head, “I wish I knew what to do for him, how to help him somehow.”

“John, listen to me.” Jacobs turned toward him and tried to offer what little bit of support to the ex-op that he could, “You’re doing all that you can; you’ve done a great job so far. Just hang in there alright? He needs you.”

John nodded, “I’m trying to stay hopeful. It’s just hard you know?”

“Yes, I understand... but as long as we can keep him calm and comfortable, we should be alright,” Jacobs replied.

“That’s easier said than done.” John countered, “As far as keeping him calm. I might have a shot, but as for comfortable... he doesn’t stand a chance.”

It was a ludicrous statement, _how in the hell is Harold, with his existing spinal injuries plus the new ones piled on top of them supposed to be comfortable on a cold, rigid, metal table for god’s sake? Not to mention being restrained with duct tape of all things!_ He kept his retort to himself.

“That last episode had me worried. He almost got loose from the straps. If he gets agitated again, I’m really not sure what’s going to happen.” John looked pointedly at the scientist, he’d been away from Harold too long as it was and needed to get back to him. “How long is it going to take? He could wake up at any time.”

“I’ve got about another ten, twenty minutes to go I think. Then we give him the first injection. If it goes well we give him a second an hour later, then the final one an hour after that.” Jacobs paused again and took note of the now permanent expression of stress and worry on John’s face. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am John.”

“It shouldn’t have happened to him. He doesn’t deserve this.” John shook his head miserably. “I should have stayed with the two of you. It shouldn’t have happened at all.”

“Stop beating yourself up, there was no way any of us knew this was going to happen. You’ve done your best, now we just have to get him well again.” Jacobs tried to smile optimistically.

John nodded, “I better get back in there, there’s no telling when he’ll wake up again…” He walked toward the door and stopped to look back at Jacobs. “Thanks doc,” he said sadly and turned to go back to his partner.

Jacobs watched him go and considered the situation solemnly. What he hadn’t told John was, that the potential for serious long term side effects was very high with the drug he’d developed. But it was Harold's only hope, the risk was unavoidable.

But he couldn’t let himself focus on that. There was still a chance that Finch could come out of this whole and relatively intact. He would do his dammedest to make it that way and hope for the best, that’s all he could do.  
#

When John got back to the dimly lit room he could just make out that Harold was staring up at the ceiling, unblinking and very still.

For a split second he almost panicked. He’d thought that his partner had died on the table, but as he got closer he breathed a sigh of relief, he could see the rise and fall of his chest.

“Finch…?” he tried, very softly, “Are you alright?”

For a long moment Harold didn’t reply or acknowledge him, not a word or a blink of his eyes.

“Harold?” John tried to coax him again with the same result. He was getting nervous now and put his warm hand on top of Harold’s ice cold one.

“Please say something, Finch. You’re scaring me.” John tried again. “Please…”

Harold then turned his eyes towards John and Reese felt cold chills run through him. “Why are you doing this to me, John?” Harold asked him unemotionally.

John was taken aback by the unnerving and unexpected question. The piercing intensity of Harold’s regard threw him, “I… what do you mean, Harold?” he replied nonplussed.

If there was anything good at this point it was that at least Harold seemed to recognize him now. But John was confused by his pointed question. It seemed as though Harold was thinking that he’d done something to him.

John was concerned by this new turn Finch had taken and hoped he would be able to convince his partner that he was only trying to help him. What could Harold think he was doing to him?

“Don’t play the fool with me,” Harold rasped.

His throat was extremely dry and raw and it burned fiercely to speak but he didn’t dare ask for any water. John could easily spike it with sodium pentothal and get any information from him that he wanted or he could put something worse in it. He couldn’t chance it.

What if Nathan was right after all? What if John had gone back to his old ways and wanted to know more specifics about the machine and kill it? He couldn’t allow that to happen at any cost. He would just have to suffer.

“What do you want from me, Mister Reese?” He tried again and winced from the pain it caused him to speak through his damaged windpipe.

“Finch, I don’t want anything from you. Here, let me give you something to drink. I can tell that your throat’s dry…” John picked up the bottle of water and moved to put it to Harold’s lips.

“No… I won’t drink it.” Harold clamped his mouth shut and refused the cool liquid decisively. As much as he longed to drink, he just couldn’t trust that it hadn’t been tampered with.

“Harold, what are you doing? I know that you’re thirsty. Why won’t you drink it?” John was at a loss. Harold must be delusional again; he has to be if he thinks that he’d ever harm him and it broke John’s heart to see him not trust him enough to drink anything.

Harold looked at him dispassionately and John could see the hatred and mistrust through the expression of pain and discomfort in his face, “I won’t cooperate… you may as well kill me now,” he whispered weakly.

If Nathan was right, he wasn’t going to help John with his plans. He was more than willing to die to keep his creation safe.

John was mortified. All he could do was look at his poor partner in shock and disbelief.

It crushed him to see Harold so convinced that he was the enemy and not his ally at the moment. Jacobs was their only hope now. If he didn’t come through, John was almost ready to give up.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! Here have some more Finch whump, lololol. Let me know what you think please, it would make my day!

“You’re doing the right thing, my friend.” Nathan now stood behind John, and Harold wanted to tell him to get away from there, but John didn’t seem to notice him. “He’s probably waiting for you to cave and then he’ll take what he wants from you.” Harold stared at Nathan, not daring to speak to him for fear that John would be alerted to his presence.

But why couldn’t John hear him? Harold had no idea as he gazed at his old friend, standing there as handsome as ever.

John watched Harold’s eyes seem to track and focus on something behind him but he ignored the urge to look. 

He was familiar enough by now with his partner’s delusions and hallucinations to know that there wasn’t actually anything… or anyone there and didn’t want to encourage the false illusion.

“Finch…” John began gently, “Harold, you’re imagining things.” Harold didn’t reply, just turned his blurry focus on him and regarded him indignantly.

“Don’t listen to him, Harold. He’s going to try and convince you he’s still your friend but you can’t let him.” Nathan shook his head resolutely, “Why can’t you move if he’s not preventing it? Why don’t you have your glasses if not to incapacitate you further? You’re his prisoner Harold… why?”

Harold just gaped at John in disbelief as Nathan made his case keenly. 

“Listen, do you know where you are? What happened to you?” John tried to get through to him again, “Do you recall anything?” He was becoming desperate again. 

Nothing he’d said seemed to make any difference in Finch’s demeanor and he was starting to get more and more worried for his injured friend by the second.

“You’ve done… something to me.” Harold finally replied weakly. His throat was becoming almost too painful to speak through.

“Damn right he has, Harold.” Nathan confirmed, “He’s drugged you so you don’t remember anything. Don’t trust him.”

“No, Harold, I haven’t done anything to you,” John pleaded with him to believe him. “You were attacked by a rabid dog and you’ve been hallucinating.”

Harold grinned then, cold and hard, “You think I’m stupid,” he stated quietly and was unconvinced as he stared back up at the ceiling. “I don’t recall… any dog, Mister Reese.” He winced, just managing to make the statement and closed his weary eyes. 

He was having an issue with his vision now. The strain of trying to focus on everything in the dim room, in conjunction with the migraine he was getting, was too much. He had to try and shut out the blurriness and hope it would help with the pain that was intensifying in his head.

John was becoming more concerned. “Harold… please just tell me what I have to do to convince you that you’re imagining things and that I’m not trying to hurt you.”

“Tell him to give you back your glasses and let you up,” Nathan suggested sarcastically. 

Harold had to open his eyes again to stare up at the ominous shadows that were cast upon the ceiling by the offset beams of the flashlight. He was getting Vertigo when he closed them now. He was dammed either way it seemed. “I want to… believe you, Mister Reese,” he rasped painfully. “I really do… but.”

“Don’t do it, Harold. I’m warning you, he wants something from you,” Nathan interjected impatiently.

John could see the strain on Harold’s face as he squinted up at the ceiling and it finally dawned on him that his partner couldn’t see clearly. “I’m such an idiot, Harold. I’m sorry,” John remarked as he pulled Harold’s glasses from his pocket and placed them on his face.

John’s face suddenly came into view as he slipped the spectacles on and Harold blinked up, his vision now becoming clear and noticed the concern and worry he saw there. “There. That’s better…” John remarked compassionately and smiled down at him.

Harold immediately felt a bit of overall relief from the ability to finally be able to see plainly again. “Thank you,” he found himself saying unconsciously.

“Harold, your resolve is crumbling already. I can tell,” Nathan chastised him vehemently. “You’re still restrained, what about that?”

John was torn; he figured that he should probably leave Harold restrained and in control until after the first injection at the very least, but just couldn’t bring himself to let it continue. Not when Harold wasn’t fighting it and seemed to be composed enough. He hoped the worst was over. He decided to chance it.

“You appear to be calm enough right now… I hated to have to do it to you in the first place, Finch. But you were so out of control we had to hold you down so you didn’t hurt yourself,” John chuckled, “or me for that matter. So we had to contain you somehow.” John moved to do something that Harold didn’t have a vantage point to see.

“Listen, you’ve been hurt and have terrible injuries to your neck and arm. That’s why your throat probably feels like sandpaper. Please don’t make them worse. Keep yourself relaxed and don’t touch them. They’ve been neglected for too long as it stands.”

“Please don’t make me sorry about this.” He grinned sadly at his injured partner. “I had thought about trying to stitch you up myself but I didn’t want to make it worse or accidently kill you.” John chuckled again and smiled at him anxiously.

John had pulled a knife out of his pocket and swiftly cut the straps that still held Finch to the table, releasing him at long last it seemed.

Harold was confused by John’s acquiescent behavior. He had freed him now and he looked over at Nathan. 

Nathan shook his head, “I tried to warn you…” then disappeared.

“Your wounds are seeping now, Finch. Will you let me see to them properly?”

“Aren’t you… going to ask me anything… about the machine?” Harold’s voice had finally had it. He was finding it much harder to speak without major pain through his airway. He wasn’t sure how much more he would be able to say.

John looked at him as if he had lost his mind, “What would I want to know that I don’t already know, Finch?” he offered, “Is that what this was about?”

“Nathan said…” Harold rasped and then stopped suddenly and struggled to sit up from the table.

John helped him and he sat there quietly while his equilibrium evened out and the room stopped spinning. He breathed through the pain of stiff joints and vertebrae in his neck from his prior injuries and looked down at his mangled, bleeding arm. 

John waited until Harold got himself reoriented and was ready before he regretfully had to remind him. “Finch… Nathan is dead,” he began. “He’s been dead for years.”


	15. Chapter 15

“No…” Harold winced from the pain in his throat, but needed to correct John. 

He couldn’t let John go on thinking that Nathan was dead. Not when he’d just seen and talked with him multiple times. “He was right… here,” he stated vehemently, imploring John to believe him.

John shook his head sympathetically, “No Harold… he wasn’t.”

“But…” Harold stopped and furrowed his brows, lost in thought and his throat had finally stopped cooperating, effectively making him mute.

“Listen, the rabies virus in your bloodstream is causing you to see and experience things that don’t exist.” John explained as evenly as he could, trying to sound more in control and calmer than he felt. “On top of that, we’ve had to sedate you numerous times to try and keep you from getting violent and lashing out.” 

It was Harold’s turn to shake his head distractedly, causing his injuries to stab at his neck. He gasped and his hand moved reflexively toward the area until John caught it mid-air.

Harold looked at John, startled by the sudden action. “I’m sorry, Finch,” he apologized quickly, “but you don’t want to be touching your open wounds with your hands,” he smiled nervously, “trust me on that.”

Harold was still foggy and unclear about what he had experienced and the loss of communication was only making everything worse.

He wasn’t able to speak to ask any questions and began to feel nauseous and uncomfortably hot again, on top of the headache that he had now that had been threatening him for some time. 

“Finch, everything that’s happened to you has been caused by circumstances that are beyond any of our control. You’re delusional right now.” John took a deep breath before striking the hardest blow, “Seeing Nathan hasn’t been real, talking to him hasn’t been real, Finch…. he’s dead.”

Harold flinched as if he’d been slapped across the face from John’s harsh last words, but John didn’t pull any punches, it was too important. He had to get through to him.

“I’m sorry but think about it for a minute,” John tried urgently. “Try and remember the fact that I’ve never met Nathan… he was dead before you and I ever started to work together.”

Harold looked up at John dolefully and John felt his heart clench in his chest from the tears and despair that filled his partner’s eyes.

“No…he…” The pain in his throat was terrible and he grimaced as he tried to swallow to coat his parched, burning throat, but he had to finish. He was compelled to try to convince John to believe him, “he was… just here,” he rasped mournfully as tears trickled down his face, trying hard to refuse to believe that it had all been a delusion but understanding that it might be true.

John shook his head somberly, knowing that he was breaking his partner’s heart... but knowing that he had to make him see, “I’m so sorry, Harold, but he wasn’t… not really.”

Harold looked down at his injured arm, not able to meet John’s eyes and felt almost numb suddenly. The pain there was fading to a dull throbbing ache but he felt almost distanced from the horrific wound, as if it weren’t his mangled flesh that he was looking at, but belonged to someone else. 

“You stay here for just a minute while I go check on Jacobs. Then we’ll get you patched up as soon as I get back,” John explained. “Remember, don’t touch your wounds Finch. They’re exposed and open to infection, if they’re not already.” 

Harold still didn’t look at him as he tried to wrap his mind around what John had just told him. The physical pain was secondary in his mind to the mental anguish he was suffering through now. 

“Finch?” John prompted him gently, “Will you be alright?”

Harold nodded faintly and had no other reply, dazed and almost completely lost in his own thoughts. John was only there in his periphery.

John was nervous about leaving him alone, but saw no other option if Finch was going to stand a chance. Jacobs was taking too long; if he had to light a fire under the doctor, he would. 

“Are you sure you feel alright at the moment…? This will only take a minute, no longer. I promise.” John pursed his lips in sympathy seeing his partner so miserable and despondent. 

He hated to leave Harold again, even for a short time, but after being able to have a conversation, such as it was, it was imperative that Harold was given Jacob’s new serum as soon as humanly possible. 

Harold had only just realized that John had been speaking to him. He closed his eyes and nodded in agreement, wincing again from the unforgiving pain it had caused in his neck again. John turned and walked to the doorway.

He hesitated for just a moment at the doorway to look back at his poor partner again. 

Finch was now gazing off vacantly, somewhere only he could see. John knew that he was having a really hard time understanding and accepting what he’d been told and felt terrible for him. He took a deep breath and swallowed down the lump in his throat then hurried to go check in with Jacobs.  
#  
“Harold…?” he opened his eyes sluggishly then suddenly realized that he was leaning precariously to one side. He was very near toppling over when a feminine voice woke him from his daydream, alerting him to the danger before he fell off the table and onto the floor.

He startled and looked towards the familiar figure but could not place her face for the life of him.

“Who are you?” Is what he wanted to ask, if he could speak but the woman seemed to understand his unspoken query and answered, “You don’t recognize me, do you?” She smiled at him and his heart immediately and automatically opened to her with unexpected warmth and affection. He knew this woman… somehow he knew her.  
#

John hurried into the room as Jacobs was finishing up. “How much longer?” he asked breathlessly, “he’s awake and calm at the moment. You have to hurry.”

“I was just about to go to him. How is he?” Jacob’s asked keenly as he drew the contents of the first injection into a syringe.

“Just hurry up and you’ll see for yourself. Come on… now!” John was impatient and had to prevent himself from physically dragging the doctor out by the scruff of his neck.

The doctor finished and agreed readily. He smiled at John and nodded, “Okay… let’s go cure our friend.”


	16. Chapter 16

My, how you’ve grown,” the woman remarked as she walked over towards Harold, smiling.

Harold considered her words and it suddenly dawned on him, she was just how he remembered her from the old photograph he clung to as a child. “Mother?” he choked out. 

She smiled at him and stroked his face. He closed his eyes and relished the feel of her soft, warm hand against his cheek. He smiled and opened his eyes to take in the sight of the woman whom he’d only remembered in bits and pieces.

His father had told him all about her of course, but he only had vague memories of her personally as a very young boy. He was only three years old when they had lost her to pneumonia and his father was left to raise him on his own.

He still couldn’t speak without great difficulty; the pain was intense in his throat, raw and dry but he couldn’t seem to help himself. 

He had so many questions for her, but it all came down to one; he had to know, to affirm that he was only deluding himself… that she wasn’t actually there.

Through the anguish of his mangled throat, he managed to whisper one word through his teary eyes, “How…?”

Her smile opened up to him and she ran her hand over his disheveled hair, “I’m in your imagination, sweetheart.”

He leaned into her touch as his eyes closed, never wanting the feel of her warmth to end as the tears trickled down his face.

“Harold… you need to lay down now,” she encouraged him to turn his injured body gently to lay flat on the table again, and he let her sure hands guide him until he was relaxed against the cold metal. “You need to let John and the doctor help you; they’re coming, and you have to let them do what needs to be done.”

Harold’s mind was in emotional turmoil. He was disheartened that everything he was going through was false, it didn’t exist… and it was driving him mad. If this was just his imagination working to bring his beloved mother to him, he never wanted to leave it.

As she stood over him, he gazed above into her loving eyes. “Stay…” he whispered beseechingly. He took a shuddering breath when she once again stroked his hair and tears welled in his eyes and spilled over.

“You know I can’t, my sweetheart.” She touched his hand and caressed his tear streaked face. “I’m not really here.”

“Please… mom…” he rasped desperately, “I… need you.” He could now feel himself becoming drowsy and tried desperately to fight it off as he felt his eyes close.

“Harold, you’ll be okay. Let John help you and we’ll see each other again.” She leaned over and kissed his wet cheek, “I promise.”

Harold smiled and drifted off, sensing the lingering tenderness the kiss had left in its wake.  
#  
John and Jacobs came into the dim room and immediately walked over to the table.

“Finch?” John put his hand on Harold’s.

Harold smiled and opened his eyes, gazing up at the ceiling. “I saw… her,” he whispered.

John had no clue who he was talking about, but knew whoever he was referring to, was another delusion. Whoever this latest specter was had obviously made a profound impact on his partner and he wouldn’t diminish the vision Harold had had. Whoever he’d seen made Harold immensely happy and John wanted nothing more than for him to have whatever happiness he could for as long as possible, whether it be real or imagined.

“Doctor Jacobs has the first injection ready to go. Are you ready?”

Harold nodded, then had another brutal reminder of the pain in his neck.

“Alright, let me give you the first round and we’ll tend to your wounds. Does that sound like a plan?” Jacobs asked optimistically.

“Yes,” Harold replied and held out his uninjured arm.

“Water…?” he asked John painfully. 

“Yes, I’m sorry Harold, just a second.” John found the bottle of water while Jacobs inserted the needle into his arm and injected the drug.

Harold grimaced when the drug entered his bloodstream. Jacobs noticed immediately and was concerned, “Harold? Are you alright?”

John helped Harold sit up a little bit to help him with the water, “Burns…” he rasped and tried to swallow down the fraction of liquid to help ease his raw throat. 

Harold almost choked as the water seemed to stop halfway down his windpipe and he urgently coughed up what had gone in. Tears of pain sprang to his eyes from the exertion of attempting to breathe again. He had unintentionally inhaled a few drops into his lungs and the pain played hell with him as he leaned over to one side and choked and coughed for what seemed an eternity.

John looked at the doctor in panic after helping his partner to lay flat once more. 

Harold looked up at Jacob’s with what amounted to pure agony, “It Burns…!” He coughed again and John felt helpless not being able to offer him support of any kind, having to watch his poor partner suffer countless obstacles and unending pain was killing him inside.

“I’m sorry, Harold, it shouldn’t burn. I… I don’t understand why that’s happening. Just give it a little while.” Jacobs tried to calm Harold’s adverse reaction, but it was pointless. He had no clue why this drug was wreaking such havoc to Harold’s system and there was nothing he could think of or do to reverse the action. 

John and the doctor noticed that sweat now covered every inch of Harold’s traumatized body, every inch of his skin was wet and soaking into his clothing. 

John looked at Jacobs and they were both in shock from the speed in which it had all happened.

What else could he do but to try and endure? Harold finally stopped coughing and began to tremble as he fisted his hands against the onslaught. He lay there in agony, it was becoming too much; he thought he would die from the lava that coursed through his entire frame… until he heard the voice in the distance.

“Let go, son. Relax your mind and let go. Let yourself be taken into forgetfulness and when you next open your eyes, you won’t be in quite so much pain.”

“Mom…” he whispered and succumbed to the darkness that surrounded him and he mercifully passed out.

“What the hell happened here, doctor!?” John exclaimed angrily.

“I don’t know John. I honestly have no idea.” He shook his head in confusion. “But when he wakes up, he should be okay.” Jacobs really had no idea on that matter but what else could he say? He didn’t dare say that Harold may not live to wake up again, that he was too far gone to save. No, the doctor couldn’t tell John his worst fears. He had to be optimistic and convince John to do the same.

“For right now John, let’s dress his injuries. At least he won’t feel anything while he’s out.”

“I hope to hell not,” John replied angrily and went to the cabinet to pull out supplies. “We need to do this as quickly as possible.”

“Understood,” Jacobs replied and they went to work on Harold’s hideous, mangled wounds.


	17. Chapter 17

John grabbed everything he could find. His arms were full of gauze, antiseptic, swabs and everything else he could carry when he brought it all over to the table and set it down.

He looked at Jacobs, who had been inspecting Harold’s wounds as well as he could in the dimness of the room and noted the dismal expression on the man’s face.

“They’re bad,” John stated irrefutably, startling the doctor out of the daze he seemed to be lost in.

“Yeah. They are,” he replied uneasily. “I honestly don’t know how he’s not dead from the severity of them.” He looked at John sympathetically. 

“Harold’s a fighter,” John replied surely. “Has been for a long time now. This isn’t going to be the end of him…” John looked Jacob’s in the eye, “I promise you… he’s not done yet.” John put his hand over Harold’s to comfort himself and to reinforce the fact that he was still with him. “He’s going to make it,” he stated resolutely.

“Keep an eye on him while I scrub up and then you do the same.” Jacob’s put a hand on John’s shoulder before he turned to go to the sink.

John nodded in agreement and stood over his poor partner. 

He could tell that Jacob’s was nervous, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. 

They had given Harold the first injection and there were two more coming; they needed to get Harold stitched up and as calm as possible until they could tell whether the cure was going to work or not. 

John crossed his fingers and hoped that the worst of the reactions were behind them. 

He couldn’t stand the thought of Harold having to go through the same intense pain they had already witnessed from the first injection. 

He watched Harold’s pained expression changing as he was clearly interacting with someone or something in his mind again. 

John could only hope it wasn’t another unsettling scene playing out in his subconscious, although it seemed that those types were the norm for him now.

Harold shifted on the table and murmured through his damaged windpipe, “I’m sorry… I can’t…” he pleaded desperately. “I can’t…” John couldn’t imagine what was going on in Harold’s head now. He only knew that whatever it was, he was being tormented by it. 

Then he opened his eyes suddenly and looked into the shadowed face above him. “I can’t…” he whispered again, beseechingly. “I won’t…” he stated adamantly and tears ran down either side of his face.

“It’s alright, Finch,” John soothed him gently. “You’re going to be okay.”

“John?” Harold whispered quietly and grimaced as he tried to swallow, squeezing his eyes shut and breathing through the worst of it. He opened his eyes again slowly and blinked up at the man. “John… is it you?” 

“It’s me, I’m here Harold.” John squeezed his partner's shoulder gently, hoping that he was really back with him. 

He smiled down at Harold and felt his heart clench at the sight of pain and confusion in his partner’s expression as Harold’s eyes searched John’s face incredulously.

“I…” Harold’s eyebrows furrowed as he questioned whether what he was seeing, and hearing was real or not, “I don’t…" he swallowed again, biting back a cry of pain as he continued to try and speak. 

“Don’t try to talk Harold. Your throat is messed up. Just try to stay calm… can you do that for me?”

“Where’s Nathan?” he asked, clearly confused and disoriented. “I don’t… I don’t feel so well John… get Nathan… he’ll know what to do.” Harold whispered agitatedly. 

Harold started to become more animated and shifted on the table again, attempting to sit up. John did what he knew he had to do and put his hand in the middle of Harold’s chest and held him down. 

He was so weak it didn’t take any of John’s considerable strength to keep him pinned. John felt awful having to do it but he didn’t want to chance Harold aggravating his wounds and making them worse than they already were. 

He tried to ease him. “Shh… listen Harold... you’re injured, remember? We’re trying to help you.” John felt terrible as Harold continued to fight against him feebly, still trying to sit up. John begrudgingly maintained a firm pressure against his partner’s chest while Harold squirmed weakly underneath his hands.

“Let me up!” Harold protested as forcefully as he could, “Why are you… doing this… please stop!” He exclaimed despairingly while his exhausted body intuitively continued to struggle under John’s strong hands.

John had to do something quickly and unfortunately… something drastic but it had to be done; Harold’s wounds were oozing blood and plasma again from the adrenalin coursing through his veins. He had to get him under control right away and get some bandages on them before they opened up any more from his strenuous movements. 

“Finch, be still and calm down before you make things worse!” John raised his voice and sternly tried to get Harold under control and compliant. He felt awful for barking at Harold, but he had to calm him down by whatever means necessary and it seemed to do the trick. 

Harold snapped out of it and went still and looked up at John as Jacob’s came back to them.

He looked at the doctor standing next to John and suddenly, painfully recalled what was happening, “Yes… I’m sorry,” he replied with tears stinging his eyes. “I remember now...” he exhaled sadly, “Nathan’s… dead.”

John swallowed down the lump in his throat and nodded affirmatively, “We have to get your wounds seen to so we’re going to have to turn on the lights,” he began gently. “Your eyes are really sensitive. Do you think you’ll be alright if we cover them?”

Harold hesitated for a moment, “Yes…” he tried to answer further but he couldn’t. 

The pain in his throat was becoming more unbearable by the second. It was almost impossible to speak through his mangled windpipe now but John knew by Harold’s expression that he was lucid and back with him in the present and that he understood what was going on around him.

John put his hand on Harold’s shoulder, “I’ll be right back, I have to go to the sink and then the doctor and I will get started patching you up.” John gave him a quick, reassuring squeeze and went to wash up.

Jacob’s smiled at Harold apologetically, “I’m afraid I don’t have any local anesthetic… it’s going to hurt, my friend.” 

Harold acknowledged the doctor with a slight nod and looked back at the ceiling above him, lost in thought.

John came back and stood over him, “Are you ready?” he asked apprehensively.

Harold looked at him and nodded. 

“I have to take your glasses off for now,” John began. “But I’ll replace them as soon as we’re finished.” 

Harold felt anxious at the thought of being all but blind again but quickly tamped it down and acquiesced to John’s instruction. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, awaiting the next step.

John took Harold’s glasses from his face and set them on the table. He covered Harold’s eyes with a hand towel, tucking it around his head the best he could to block out the light that was going to be tremendously bright and painful for his partner’s sensitive eyes.

“Alright doctor… go ahead,” John initiated the doctor to begin and covered Harold’s hand with his own.

Jacob’s turned the bright fluorescent lights on with his elbow and walked back over to the table. 

Both men had to stifle the expression of revulsion they both felt keenly from the sight of torn, infected tissue that hung open and exposed from Harold’s neck and arm.

Jacob’s swallowed hard and picked up the scalpel. “I’m going to start now, Harold. Try and be as still as you possibly can for me.” Everyone took a deep breath as Jacob’s began with Harold’s neck wound. “Here we go…”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things aren't looking any better for the guys.

The initial removal of tissue went off without a hitch; there was no indication that Harold had felt anything at all from the blade cutting away at his infected flesh, which made the doctor a bit uneasy… he should have felt something.

“Harold, how are you doing?” Jacob’s asked nervously disposing of the first small strip he removed from the mangled site. He was extremely careful that what he was cutting away wasn’t anywhere near Harold’s windpipe.

He was already having a hard enough time talking, and it seemed apparent that his breathing was now becoming an issue on top of that. The volume and physical exertion he had to expend to speak indicated that his airway was gradually closing up and it was now a race to get things under control before his ability to breathe became a major concern.

The last thing the doctor wanted to do was cause more harm than good and do irreparable damage to Harold’s airway.

John watched diligently the moment Jacobs put the scalpel to his partner’s throat and started removing the septic tissue.

He watched Harold for any indication of pain in his expression under the covering over his eyes, but there was absolutely nothing whatsoever. Not even a wince or a cringe from the blade cutting into him. They were both shocked by the lack of response.

“Finch, are you alright?” John prompted his quiet partner and squeezed his hand gently.

“Fine…” Harold rasped and squeezed John’s hand back in reply.

“You don’t feel anything?” The doctor asked nervously.

“A… slight tingle…” Harold replied faintly.

John looked at Jacobs worriedly.

“Well… considering the fact that we don’t have any anesthesia… let’s take it as a good sign and proceed with haste,” Jacobs remarked and went back to removing the decrepit tissue around the ripped and torn flesh.

John couldn’t continue to watch as Jacobs proceeded to incise the ghastly wound and let go of Harold’s hand gently, “I’m just moving around to the other side Finch, I’m not going anywhere.” John walked around the table and took Harold’s other hand in his and looked closer at the horrible wound to his arm in repulsion.

“Jesus, Harold… I’m so sorry about this,” John began remorsefully, staring at the injury in alarm. “If I hadn’t left you alone... this would never have happened to you.”

Harold smiled faintly and squeezed John’s hand in effort to reassure him.

He didn’t want John blaming himself for something that was in no way his fault. He kept his eyes shut under the towel that blocked out the light and felt consciousness gradually drifting away from his grasp again.

The feeling of what was happening under the knife was only a vague tingling sensation, and wasn’t in the least bit painful in the full scheme of things.

“He’s got you right where he wants you now, Harold.” Finch heard Nathan’s voice immediately next to his ear and he startled from the proximity and the volume of his words.

That’s when it happened. The moment Jacobs put the scalpel back to his partner’s throat for the fourth time, Harold flinched under the blade, causing the doctor to cut into a portion of his neck that had been undamaged before.

Harold didn’t feel anything then either, but distantly he heard John’s anxious voice and another man chattering in alarm. But above that, Nathan was still speaking earnestly at volume inside his head.

“Their cutting you open, my friend. Don’t you feel the blood running down your neck?” Nathan insisted adamantly, “Their going to kill you. You have to get away. You have to move… now!”

He couldn’t stand it, “I don’t… care anymore, Nathan,” Harold replied faintly.

John was in panic and neither man noticed Harold speaking, “Damn it, Jacobs!” he exclaimed angrily before he realized it wasn’t going to do anyone any good flying off the handle. He knew it was an accident but he couldn’t help his initial reaction as the blood trickled down his partner’s neck.

“I’m sorry, John. It couldn’t be helped.” Jacobs’s felt absolutely horrible as he dabbed at the new wound to Harold’s neck. “It’s not too deep. It’ll be fine, we'll just keep pressure on it until it slows down and clots.” He put a gauze bandage on the cut and motioned for John to hold it against Harold’s neck while he taped it into place and tried to get a handle on his own blood pressure. “I don’t think it’ll need stitches, thank goodness,” he added nervously.

Jacobs felt terribly bad for John as well as he stood there beside his partner seemingly agitated and lost, like he was completely adrift and helpless and could offer nothing to the dire situation. He didn't know what he could possibly say to the man to make any of this better. He prayed to God that if he were to lose Harold that it wouldn't mean that he'd then be responsible for John's death as well. It was painfully obvious just how much John relied on and cared for his partner and he could only hope that the man could survive the loss if it were to come to that.

Nathan continued to speak to Harold obstinately, “You don't care anymore!?" he shot back angrily, "Well you should care, Harold, because once John gets control of the Machine... he’s going to kill you and a shit load of innocent people as well! People that will lose their lives because _‘you’_ don’t care anymore…” he mocked him cruelly.

Harold felt hot tears run down either side of his face. He was just so tired… he wanted everything to be finished.

The stress of living with the responsibility of so many lives riding on his shoulders was too much for him to bear any longer, and now Nathan… one of the most beloved friends he’d ever had in his life, being so cross and heated with him for not doing enough was the tipping point.

He wanted to be through with everything, to never have to think about it again. He never wanted to think about the accountability of all the lives under his control, or the responsibility of The Machine and what it is capable of or anything else ever again.

He wanted the whole thing to end and be over, once and for all.

“Finch... you still with us?” This time it was John’s voice he heard distantly in his ear, but he didn’t reply. He didn’t have the strength or the will to answer. He could feel his life force draining out of him and he embraced the peaceful sensation.

John looked up at Jacob’s, who stood ready to take the next step with incising Harold’s neck wound and shook his head nervously.

“Please, Harold, just squeeze my hand if you can hear me.” John looked down at their joined hands and waited hopefully, trying to will his own strength through his partner’s limp appendage but garnered no response.

“Please just say or do something, Finch. Let me know you’re still with me,” John choked out desperately.

He could feel that Harold was more than just unconscious. John knew his partner was dying, he felt it tangibly in his heart and soul. He was terrified that this was the end.

John didn’t know what to do and Jacob’s stood riveted, waiting and watching the tragic scene playing out in front of him.

“Finch… Harold, please don’t give up. I need you.” John brought Harold’s hand to his lips, “I need you…” He sobbed quietly, unable to stop the tears as they fell.

#

Harold could see the room from above. He could see John holding onto his hand, weeping as his body lay there, horribly injured and unmoving and saw the doctor standing over him stark still and silent.

But he felt nothing himself as he looked over the figures in the room. It was as if he were made of stone, numb and removed from the intense pain coming off his partner in waves of sorrow and grief.

 _“You need to go back, sweetheart.”_ Harold suddenly felt a flood of warmth and emotion engulfing him, hitting him like a sledge hammer, wrapping him in a blanket of love and contentment.

He turned and looked beside him to see his mother standing there, smiling at him. His eyes welled up when his father walked up and joined them, taking his mother’s hand into his own. _“Your mother’s right, son,”_ his father smiled at him joyously.

Harold could see the acknowledgement that sparked in his father’s clear blue eyes in seeing his son and Harold found himself weeping from the precious gift of recognition that had been cruelly taken from him near the end of his life.

 _“You have too much left to do; it’s not your time yet._ ” His father began, _“The world spins on dreamers like you Harold,”_ he added familiarly, harkening back to some of the last lucid words Harold had ever heard spoken from him.

Harold smiled at his parents and the tears spilled over and ran down his face. “Please let me stay with you.” He was so happy and content right now, he never wanted the feeling to end.

 _“Harold…”_ his mother put her hand on Harold’s cheek and he closed his eyes and rejoiced in the warmth and tenderness in her caress, _“The world needs you.”_ He opened his eyes and looked sorrowfully into hers, ready to differ until she added, _“John needs you…”_

He looked away then, back toward the scene below.

Back to John’s quaking figure sobbing quietly as he held Harold’s limp hand to his lips. He could feel the despair in John, the fear and grief was overwhelming and Harold was torn.

 _“He won’t make it without you, darling,”_ his mother pronounced sadly.

“But I’ve only just found you, mom,” he replied desolately. He was confused and afraid but most of all, he was unsure.

 _“Harold… look at me.”_ Harold turned back to his parents, _“We’ll be here when you’re ready… I promise.”_ She smiled warmly and kissed his cheek.

He basked in the lingering warmth and affection of her sweet manifestation and took a deep shuddering breath, “I don’t know…”

 _“Harold… you must,”_ she replied gravely and glanced toward John, _“For his sake.”_

Harold turned back and choked up again at the sight below.

 _“I know you’re thinking of the pain you have to live with every day, Harold... and we know that at times it’s unbearable… but think about the pain that he’ll go through without you,”_ his father stated gently. _“He’ll castigate himself with self-inflicted hatred and the pain of guilt until he finally can’t take it anymore... he'll end his life.”_

Harold couldn’t stand the thought of John committing suicide because he thought that it was all his fault.

John took the burden of guilt on himself as did Harold. It made no sense that they both blamed themselves for things that weren’t in their control.

Harold decided that his parents were right. He would go back to convince his partner that he had to stop punishing himself for everything that went wrong and he would try to do the same.

“It’s not his time yet either,” Harold pronounced. He turned to face his parents and embraced them. He kissed his mother on the cheek and smiled, “I’m ready…”

They both smiled warmly and nodded, _“It’s not going to be any picnic son. Brace yourself for the return to your body.”_ His father pursed his lips, _“You can do this.”_

Harold nodded and grasped onto his parent’s hands, "I love you both so much..." he closed his eyes and awaited the ensuing agony he knew to expect when he next opened them.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At long last, another chapter! Thanks for those of you hanging in there with me, all comments are much appreciated!

John had removed the covering from Harold’s eyes to look into his pale, lifeless face and gently… reverently, pushed back the matted hair from his forehead. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, never letting go of his partner’s hand. 

A slight movement at first, drew John’s attention and he looked up in shock from his vigil of prayer when Harold suddenly and unexpectedly took a deep, shuddering inhalation of air, struggling to fill his lungs once again with life. The hand that John had been holding onto like a lifeline tightened viselike around his own to the point of pain. 

John couldn’t believe his partner had returned to him and found tears streaming down his face, sobbing with momentary relief as he firmly but gently pried Harold’s fingers away from his own.

“Hang on, Harold!” John cried desperately.

Jacobs quickly returned to stand at his side while Harold fought valiantly to get his lungs working on their own again. The doctor stood there unmoving, not knowing what he could possibly do at the moment but watch John take control of the dire situation.

“John…!” Harold gasped desperately, “John… I can’t!” Harold huffed and gasped uncontrollably and writhed on the table, “I can’t…” the pain of returning to his badly injured body was excruciating enough and adding the extreme effort of pulling air in to fill his lungs again felt impossible. 

Panic welled up in him almost to the breaking point. The longer and harder he had to fight to breathe normally again, the more the fear took hold.

“Finch…” John fought to keep his own emotions at bay and calm his terrified partner to the best of his ability, “Harold look at me!” John exclaimed forcefully, “Concentrate… listen to me.” He clutched onto Harold’s fisted hand, drawing it up to his heart and leaned in close. 

He looked directly into Harold’s wild eyes, his pupil’s blown wide and began, “Slow down and breathe with me.” John put his free hand over his partner’s chest and attempted to get Harold to be still and focus solely on him as he lay there very near the point of hyperventilating. 

Harold did his damnedest to follow John’s instruction through the pain in his body and the frenzied, disorderly state of his mind. He literally felt like he was spiraling out of control; his thoughts were muddled and the absorption of reality was eluding him. He desperately tried to make sense of his surroundings. His vision was spinning so much so that he could hardly focus on John’s face and when he closed his eyes, it was far worse. 

With monumental effort Harold was finally able to let his partner’s soothing voice and calm demeanor guide him out of the abysmal hell he occupied and back into the moment. He forced himself to latch onto John’s concerned, unwavering blue eyes and followed his instruction as best he could until slowly, agonizingly, he found himself calming down.

“That’s it, Finch…” John encouraged him, “You’ve got this,” he soothed him gently and smiled as Harold slowed his breathing. The overwhelming release of fear and the thankfulness John felt at that moment was almost too much. He felt his emotions fluctuate like he was riding a rollercoaster and again silent tears rolled down his cheeks… this time tears of gratitude and relief.

John, somehow, knew now in his heart that Harold was going to get through this. Something in him told him that this would be the last near miss that they would have to deal with. This new certainty encouraged him to take complete control over himself and the situation they were in. 

John had never thought of himself as a believer in a higher power, neither one of them had before, but he told himself in that moment that if this new resolve and determination in him got them closer to getting out of here and Harold back from the brink of death and back with him, he would reconsider everything.

“You’re going to be okay now… we’ll finish and get you fixed up so we can get the hell out of this place.” John placated his exhausted partner and smiled at him. He looked at Jacobs and nodded.

“John…?” Harold spoke quietly and focused onto John’s clear blue eyes; he had to tell his partner how important he was to him, how much he needed him in his life, and that he meant as much to Harold as he evidently meant to him. 

He had to tell him now while the fleeting memory of his loving parent’s was still with him. Somehow he thought it important to do it immediately, as if they were still watching from above but wouldn’t linger much longer and he wanted them near to hear it too. To understand that what they had seen and explained to him had sunk in.

John stood with Harold’s hand still held firmly in his own, “Yeah, Finch…?” he answered tentatively and leaned in closer. 

“My life… is almost as important to me… as yours,” Harold smiled faintly, “almost…”

John choked back a sob of relief as Harold’s words washed over him. He smiled back, “Come on, we gotta get back to patching you up,” John replied and squeezed his partner’s hand.

Harold nodded and looked towards Jacobs as he stepped up to the table, having kept his distance for the intimate exchange between the two men.

“I’m ready…” Harold stated and looked back at his partner, “Keep hold of me… John.”

“Always…” John replied and smiled.

Harold again closed his eyes, “Please proceed, doctor,” he whispered. 

Jacobs took a deep breath and looked at John, clearly awaiting his permission. 

“It’s going to be fine.” John smiled and squeezed Harold’s hand, reassuring Harold or himself, he wasn’t quite sure… but it didn’t matter. 

Harold was going to be fine either way. He nodded for Jacob’s to continue with what he’d started.

Another calming breath and Jacob’s was ready to try again.


End file.
